


(all these bodies are hoping to get) addicted to sound

by mary_thewolf



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Sports, F/F, Football | Soccer, Jewish Kara Danvers, it's never platonic between them, soccer au inspired by the world cup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 15:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mary_thewolf/pseuds/mary_thewolf
Summary: But Jack is not wrong: Lena has a tiny crush on Kara Danvers. Considering she is a blonde woman with clear blue eyes and a very sharp physique, to think she’s beautiful is simply the worldwide norm and having a small, friendly crush based on admiration has never killed anybody, Lena thinks, especially when you have watched Kara’s Nike commercial on TV more times than you can count.(And congratulations to Nike’s social media team. She manages to see the video of Kara Danvers throwing water all over herself after playing a match with the brand’s shoes on every visit she makes to Instagram, and it’s still mesmerizing every time.)(or, Lena plays for Real Madrid and Kara plays for Juventus. It's complicated.)





	1. you get lost in neon green (and you fall in the obscene)

**Author's Note:**

> for this fic to work, y'all have to pretend soccer is a sport played exclusively by women. also, the european leagues work the way i want because their callendar didn't match with mine. lena is inspired by cristiano ronaldo (because my sister became obsessed with him and uses every opportunity to prove to me he's a nice guy) and kara's inspired by my muslim baby mo salah. she's also jewish, because i am too. 
> 
> dedicated to my two friends G and L for supporting me and answering my annoying question on both ronaldo and specificities of the leagues.
> 
> title from "if walls could talk" by 5 seconds of summer.

 

The light of cameras flashing behind her eyelids is perhaps the one thing in the world that irritates Lena Luthor the most. Tonight, UEFA is throwing a big party in anticipation of Champions League beginning in a week and Lena, buzzing from playing a match against Sevilla two nights before (a hard win for Real Madrid, in which she scored two goals out of the 3x2 win), almost can’t feel the chilly air of Nyon, Switzerland beneath her skin tight black dress. Having grown up in the warm weather of californian Metropolis, she was used to big pools and weekends at the beach, and mother reprimanding her not to get tanned, lest she looks too brown.

Chilly air curls around her and, by her side, Jack Spheer, looking dizzy thanks to the constant flashing, grabs her waist firmly.

“Luthor, smile for us,” says one of the paparazzi, obnoxiously waving his camera a few meters in front of her.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Lena grits her teeth and stares straight at the man, but before he is responsible for making her cause a scene, Jack leads her out of the red carpet. “Okay, that’s enough.”

The lights inside of the gala are almost as blinding as the ones produced by the photographers, and looking around, Lena realizes she could probably name every player there, most of them in either very fitting suits or money-appropriated dresses, playing for the big leagues all over the world.

A big tower made of champagne glasses has been built on the center of the venue and a table full of hors d'œuvre topped with caviar and shrimps seems to be the biggest attraction. Standing beside it, someone who Lena recognizes as the Paris Saint-Germain player Maggie Sawyer chats animatedly with a taller, short-haired woman with tattoos on her neck.

“What a bunch of cunts,” Jack exclaims, very british-like, startling Lena.

A waiter walks by with tumblers of whisky and she grabs two, handing one to her friend. “It’s fine. I’m sure all of them are dying to get a good picture of me after the whole ordeal with Lex.”

Two weeks earlier, Lena’s brother, Lex, got caught by the police with 25 grams of coke the day before he was supposed to play the NBA Finals for Golden State Warriors. Humiliated by the press, Lex followed the instructions of their mother and abandoned the season for which he was reputed to win the MVP Award.

“International press is going nuts trying to find out where he is,” Jack says, taking the scotch to his lips.

Lena rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t worry. Knowing Lillian, she probably sent him to a private island in the Maldives or to Vietnam.”

Such extravaganza was always prone to the Luthor family. Her dad, Lionel, recoiled from participating in his last three Formula One races after killing a family in a car accident whilst drunk. 4 months after what was later redeemed as a minor incident, father showed up very clean and with regret smearing his face, donating thousands of dollars to institutions that took care of women abused by spouses with addictions.

Lena gave maybe 5 months until Lex showed up in similar manner, his grayish green eyes pleading forgiveness. Meanwhile, he’d probably be donating to some rehabilitation institution that’d revert the money back to corruption, and this thought makes her grin with the knowledge she knows exactly what to expect from her family.

At the mention of her mother, Jack raises his eyebrows. “Is she coming?”

“Absolutely not,” Lena scoffs. “She wouldn’t bother giving soccer the time of her day.”

Lilian prided herself in being an excellent tennis player during her youth, having the body and the agility to become one of the greatests. However, after winning three consecutive Wimbledon Tournaments, she decided to settle down and find a husband who would suit her greatness, and Lionel Luthor was the man in line. Later forgotten by the press, she turned her strong connections in the sporting world into fuel to make her kids the top players in their area of interest, handling them both with iron fists.

“Her loss,” Jack assures.

“Excuse me, Lena Luthor?” A hand touches Lena’s shoulder and she turns to look into the eyes of a tall, slim white boy. She nods and he continues, “Barry Allen of the S.T.A.R Sport’s Section. Do you have time for a chat?”

Lena stares him up and down and crosses her arms. “It depends. On or off record?

“No family mentions, please,” Jack tells the man with a strong voice. “Keep it soccer-only.”

“Oh. On record, of course,” Barry stutters. “And I-I didn’t… I wasn’t planning on…”

“It’s alright, Mr. Allen,” Lena says with dancing eyes, saving the man from his flow of words. “Although I’m sure it’d much more productive for both of us to discuss my career instead of my family’s scandals.”

Barry widens his eyes. “Absolutely. In fact, I wanted to ask whether Real had a solid strategy against Man United next week or they’re going to depend only on your b-grade abilities.”

_Ouch_. She wasn’t expecting such a stingy question from such a frail man.

Lena was used to people doubting her abilities. Ever since she started all those years ago, she’s had to deal with critics coming right and left from her so-called fans, and it only got worse when she became the biggest transaction in the history of Real Madrid, being bought by the cheap price of 192 million euros. Then, Lena had the prove she was worth the money, and that meant working twice harder than any regular player.

“All the players are training very hard to be on their best form for the next match, be it against United or not,” Lena responds, staring him down, her mood changing completely.

“Yeah, of course.” Barry shakes his head from side to side, not buying it. “All I meant to imply is that this game is gearing up to be a Luthor vs. Lance showdown more than anything.”

“One should never underestimate Sara Lance,” Lena says, purposely vague, silently praying for a waiter to approach her with another whiskey glass.

Her salvation comes in a different way, because as soon as Kara Danvers enters right through the front door, the whole venue goes quiet. In a white suit and dark heels and with  blue eyes scanning the entire room, the woman exudes undoubtful confidence. Her shoulders are squared straight and her jaw set tight, a posture that dares anyone in the room to question her presence.

More than being the new soccer heartthrob, she was considered the next big thing in Europe and Kara and her sister Alex have just signed to defend Juventus and Barcelona, respectively,  in this year’s Serie A and La Liga after a nasty feud with Liverpool's head coach Harley Quinn made them both resign. In the previous season, Kara scored 32 goals and single handedly took Liverpool to the Champions final, which they lost after a dirty defender clinged onto her side and pushed Kara to the ground, twisting her arm.

As soon as she realises the entire venue is staring at her, Kara grabs her sister’s hand and ducks her head, her long blonde hair partially covering her face. Lena continues to follow Kara with her eyes until the woman instantly relaxes as Maggie Sawyer greets her with a hug and Jack comes behind her to whisper in her ear:

“Oooh, your little crush is here.”

Lena turns her head so swiftly that the bones in her neck make the cracking type of sound that never sounds good. After looking around and making sure nobody listened to Jack’s little teasing words (in true white boy fashion, Barry Allen has his eyes fixated on Kara’s form, debating whether he should go where she’s standing or not), Lena makes sure to flick him in the forehead. _Hard_.

“Ouch!”

“Are you insane, Jack?” Lena presses in a hushed voice.

“Calm down, nobody heard it, geez.”

But Jack is not wrong: Lena has a tiny crush on Kara Danvers. Considering she is a blonde woman with clear blue eyes and a very sharp physique, to think she’s beautiful is simply the worldwide norm and having a small, friendly crush based on admiration has never killed anybody, Lena thinks, especially when you have watched Kara’s Nike commercial on TV more times than you can count.

(And congratulations to Nike’s social media team. She manages to see the video of Kara Danvers throwing water all over herself after playing a match with the brand’s shoes on every visit she makes to Instagram, and it’s still mesmerizing every time.)

“Even so, considering everything you know we can’t risk it.”

Thing is, Lena is not completely _out_ to the world yet. In the past 5 years since she became a real player (two years playing in Manchester United until she stood out enough to be invited to play for Real Madrid), she made the decision to not let frail things such as fights between teammates or romantic relationships distract her from the goal of becoming the number one soccer player in the world, and that mean she had to focus exclusively on her career, love life aside.

(And, if Lena is telling the truth, every milestone she achieves in her career is motivated by the rage she feels for her mother. Lillian never made a real effort to connect with her since her adoption, and it only got worse when Lena grew up to fall in love with two things: a) professional soccer and b) girls.

Even though the sport Lex chose to play also wasn’t dignified enough for Lilian’s standard, he was always the favoured child, and mother adjusted her parameters just enough to fit Lex, but never Lena.)

During her stay in United, Lena had a fling with Veronica Sinclair that actually managed to last a few months, even though it was purely sexual and they acted like they hated each other. (A year later, Veronica got married and moved to China to play for some local team.) Last year, she and Samantha Arias, her teammate on Real and a girl she knew since boarding school in Chile, started sleeping together to relieve the tension of playing on Europe’s top team, but then decided they were better off as friends.

Not counting one night stands she picked up on bars to release her stress, these two women were the closest thing she had to a serious relationship in years, and she made agreements of both parts so that their involvement stayed lowkey. Even though she doesn’t explicitly tries to hide it her attraction to women, Lena is sure the media would have a field day reanalyzing all of her relationships with the girls in her life if they ever found out, be it to call her a womanizer or to reassure the world they were all just _gal pals._

“Hey, Lena,” Jack calls, touching her arm. “I would never do anything to jeopardize your career. Trust me.”

And Lena does. She truly does. It was people like Barry Allen, curiously eyeing her interaction with Jack, that she doesn’t trust.

She looks longingly to the bar and turns to Jack. “Let’s get out of here.”

  
  
  


Before changing her focus to real professional soccer, Lena was a 17 year old girl forced by her mother to go to college and get a real job. (Father had long passed away then, killed by a despicable liver cancer.) Around the third month of a Biochemistry major sided with a Health in Sports minor, Lena was going crazy, buzzing with the need to play again and escape a world of textbooks and obnoxious male doctors.

Her one relief was a small coffee shop near campus that actually served decent cappuccino and really good pastries. It also didn’t hurt that the shop was near the Fashion department, and Lena could always count on the constant flux of passing girls as reliefs for her sore eyes.

So, on one afternoon, just like in a lousy romantic comedy, her tired self spilled coffee all over the notes of the soon-to-be lawyer Jack Spheer.

The bearded man’s eyes widened and he stared right at Lena. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my God. I’m so- Oh my God, I’m so so sorry,” Lena mumbled, grabbing tissues from a nearby table to attempt at drying the papers. “I am really so sorry.”

“Shit, they’re all ruined,” Jack whined, lack of sleep evident in his voice.

After realizing she couldn’t possibly dry paper with more paper, Lena gave up in favor of demonstrating how sorry she was. “I feel so bad right now,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Please, let me repay you somehow.”

Jack sighed. “It’s alright, lady. There’s no way you could help me.”

“Please, otherwise I won’t be able to sleep tonight,” Lena insisted.

The man stared at her and said, “Okay.”

That’s the beginning of the story of how Lena’s next 36 hours were spent huddled in Jack’s dorm room, surviving only on burnt ramen and green tea, both of them maniacally trying to write down every word of every class Jack had recorded, which made Lena ultimately fail at her test the following day but, at the same time, gave her the one thing she didn’t know she was missing: a friend.

When Jack graduated, Lena was already playing for Manchester United and they reconnected when she asked him to be her agent. The situation with Lillian was reaching a point where they couldn’t stand each other anymore, trading jabs at every opportunity, and Jack was the only human being affiliated to Lena that mother could trust (mother’s trust laid in three aspects: being straight, not smoking weed and having zero interest for soccer; with Jack, she only got two right out of three), under the hopes that they would discover a deep romantic love for each other and end up getting married.

But even right now, while watching the man ridiculously sipping on a fruit cocktail with a orange-y color that looks disgusting and fake, she knows her mother’s hopes could never be fulfilled, because the only thing she can feel for this man is brotherly love and utter fondness.

And also because of something else.

“So, how’s your husband?” asks Lena.

Jack’s eyes light up whenever he speaks of Pete, and this time is no different. “Oh, he’s doing great. Finally got a break at the clinic this week and we’re thinking of going on vacation for a few days.”

“Oh, good for you,” Lena says with an emphatic nod of her head, resting her phone on the marble counter.

“Yeah. You should take a break as well. Y’know, just for a couple of days.” Jack takes a sip of his sparkly cocktail. “Before the World Cup.”

Thinking about the World Cup fills Lena with undescriptable joy. After naturalizing herself as an Irish citizen, a move no soccer experts in the world had anticipated, she was able to play for her home country and win against much stronger teams such as Portugal and Russia. With 17 goals scored, Lena was chosen as the best player of the Qualifiers Season and managed to take the Ireland National Team to the World Cup after a 16 years drought.

“I don’t think I have the time for it,” Lena said, looking down on her drink.

She sighs as she remembers just how packed her schedule is. From February until May, she’ll be playing her heart out in both La Liga and Champions League; June-July was World Cup time (and even though she knew she would get a few weeks of vacation if she lost the very first games, there was nothing that Lena would like more than to prove soccer fans all over the world that the Irish team was just as powerful as any other); then, from August to December, the second half of the leagues.

Jack looks at her with narrowed eyes. “C’mon, Lee. We both know you could make the time if you wanted to.”

Lena shakes her head. “What I want is to stay on top of my game, and that won’t happen if I keep taking weekends to get wasted like the rest of my team-mates.”

That has been her pretty much life for the past 5 years. Doing her best to focus and working hard on the Training Camp, eating healthy and not drinking. Even taking one or two days to herself, to maybe read a book or just to sleep, and then feeling so guilty she is not perfecting herself that she stays the rest of the day down at the gym.

After a couple of sips, Jack says, “You push yourself too much, you brat.”

“Hush,” she admonishes, playfully slapping his shoulder. “Let me live my way.”  
  
  


 

 

Afterwards, all the attendants gather to listen to the UEFA’s president’s - Diana Prince, former star of Milan - speech. With a thick mane of hair and an islander accent, Diana’s presence commands the type of attention that Lena is more than willing to give her.

Her eyes are glossy and she looks a tad bit wasted when she begins, “It’s always a pleasure to welcome you all in this pre-Champions get together. It’s a special year, with the World Cup and such, and we like to make sure we invite the top players of all the european leagues, not to raise a competitive spirit among you guys, of course, but to make you aware of all the challenges you must overcome throughout the year.”

A silence stretches around the venue as Diana looks around, and, after a heartbeat, she says, with a teasing glint, “But please don’t let Kara Danvers’ princess-like complexion fool you. She’s a soccer mastermind and could take you down gracefully if you as much as looked her the wrong way.”

The venue bursts out laughing and Lena turns to look at the woman in question. Amongst her peers, Kara shines with her dimpled smile and tainted cheeks, head ducked down in embarrassment. It’s the second time tonight Lena sees her with such a modest look, and this endearing feeling is one she’s starting to associate with the blonde woman.

“Oh, don’t be coy,” Diana warns, smiling lips touching the microphone. “We know each other from way back.”

Jack leans down to whisper in Lena’s ear, “What does that mean?”

“Oh, Diana used to coach Nice, I think. That’s the club Kara began, back in France.”

“You’re such a Kara Danvers fangirl,” her friend teases.

Lena rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Diana Prince, of course, catches her by surprise. “Lena Luthor, what are you whispering up there?” Upon her widened eyes and sheepish silence, the older woman points to her and speaks to the audience, “That’s another one you got to watch out for. The most brilliant technique I’ve seen in years and a unmatchable hunger for being on top.”

Keeping her head held high while everyone’s attention turns to her is move made with enormous effort, but one that ultimately pays off when she sees admiration and envy mixed in the eyes of other players. The Danvers Sisters, huddled together in a corner near the dessert table, whisper in each other's ears, Alex darting glances in her direction.

Diana’s complementing of other players filters in the background of her mind as Kara then turns and catches her eye, her piercing gaze erupting shivers in Lena’s skin. The blonde woman sends her a big charming smile with a nod of her head and Lena raises her hand in a wave, silently acknowledging the woman’s presence. Kara tilts her head and motions to approach her, but is dragged away by her friends as soon as Diana finishes her speech.

Lena trails with her eyes as the woman leaves until Jack obnoxiously breaks the moment. “Did you just wave to a pretty girl?”

“Get out, Jack.”

  
  
  


After a long chat with some players from Paris Saint-Germain, Lena excuses herself to use the restroom. In true gala fashion, there’s fancy soaps and ice cubes in the toilets, and water that seems to run forever. Lena was used to such splendor. As a child, mother used to demand her and Lex’s presence in award ceremonies and parties hosted by committee judges with little ethic and big pockets. Even as children, they were both expected to conform to the same rules they had at home: no elbows on the table, rigid posture but make it seem like you’re happy, don’t stare, and always smile.

Her biggest and only relief was Lex, with his easy smile even under pressure and ability to always have a candy hidden in his pockets for when she was sad. They would often explore the highest floors, usually dark without the presence of the many sportists, or hide under tables and stuff themselves with canapes, playing endless mind-chess or confessing the antics of the mean children at school, who would bully them for having interests other than dating and breaking the law.

Just as she’s washing her hands with a flower shaped lavender soap, Alex Danvers and Maggie Sawyer barge into the room, hands linked and hair mussed. Lena looks at them through the mirror but quickly adverts her gaze back to the running water, sensing she just caught on to something she shouldn’t have.

Maggie clears her throat and enters one of the bathroom stalls while Alex approaches the sink soundtracked by the slam of her heels on the floor, bending down to the mirror and deftly reapplying her lipstick. She reminds Lena of the girls she went to high school with: bigger than life itself and whose squared shoulders made sure everybody understood she owed nothing to no man.

“I’d love it if my sister saw you right now.”

Lena freezes, staring at Alex’s eyes through the mirror. “What?” she asks, her heartbeat spiking up just a little.

Alex huffs out a laugh. “For the past year Kara has been talking my ear off about how cool you must be, given the way you play,” she says. “But here you are. Can’t even look me in the eye thinking you just interrupted me having sex.”

If one thing, Lena appreciates the bluntness.

“Thought you’d prefer if I was discreet,” she chooses to answer, turning her body fully to Alex.  

Alex nods with conviction. “Oh, and I do,” she says. “Just assumed you’d be different, that’s all. We honestly hear so much about you that sometimes it looks like you act the way you play.”

“And how is it?” Lena asks, fully knowing the answer.

The woman shrugs, putting her lipstick back in the bag. “Dunno. Just very fierce and straightforward.”

Lena quickly dries her hands, weighting out her next words. “Well, even though you play for Barca don’t let that stop you from coming to see me play some time. Figure out my playing style by yourself.”

Alex Danvers looks at her with amusement dancing in her eyes, and smirks. “That’d be neat, Luthor.”

Lena smiles, looks at her one more time and leaves the bathroom, feeling only mildly confused and uncomfortable with the interaction and ignoring the distant sounds of kissing.

  
  
  
  
  
  


When she finds Jack again, the man is hunched over his cellphone with a furred eyebrow, both of his fingers hurriedly sliding and tapping against the screen. Most of the people have already left, and the few remnants venture around the bar, chatting idly with one another.

Lena curls around her best friend, resting her head on his shoulder. “Let’s go?” she asks.

“Just a second,” he mumbles. “You wanna leave already?”

Lena sighs. “It’s late and I had a long night. Couldn’t sleeping thinking about the next game.”

“That’s what’s gonna kill you,” Jack says, eyes darting around the phone as a big BOOYAH appears on the screen. “Oh. I just got shot in the head.”  
  
  
  


The next morning finds both of them in Lena’s hotel room. Jack, in a dark suit and sprawled out on Lena’s bed, mindlessly checks his emails while she prepares herself for the flight back to Madrid, doing her makeup on the steamed bathroom mirror.

“Do you mind taking your shoes off my bed, Jack?” Lena asks, looking up to apply the mascara.

Her friend huffs. “I’m minding your business here. Lay off my back.”

“I don’t even know why I hired you, really,” she disdains, which prompts Jack to jump out of the bed and lean against the bathroom’s door frame.

“For my charms and expertise, obviously,” he says with eyes crinkling around the corners. “I also suppose you wouldn’t trust anyone else to see you on a cotton robe.”

Looking down on herself, Lena finds his eyes and smirks. “I don’t trust you either.”

Jack points a finger. “Our flight leaves in one hour. Less wit and more getting ready.”

Lena smiles as Jack’s phone dings and he sits on the floor to read the message. Her chest fills with excitement to go back to Madrid. If they were lucky, the flight would arrive before noon and they could drive downtown to eat a disgustedly overpriced but very worth it paella at Valle’s, a place Lena loved to go. Even so, what she missed the most was being in Real’s training camp and feeling the strong earthy smell of the place she knew like the back of her hand.

“Oh, look,” Jack exclaims. “Calvin Klein’s inviting you for a campaign, says you and other two players are gonna be their face till the World Cup. What'd’ya say?”

“What kind of campaign?” she asks.

“You know, the whole underwear thing, showing your abs and such,” Jack trails off. “Raising their sells by making you appeal to both men and women.”

Lena hums. “That might be interesting. Tell them I’m in.”

Jack nods and starts furiously typing in his phone. “Good. Your bank account keeps getting fatter.”

Lena huffs out a laugh. It isn’t even about the money but the good publicity it could bring her. “Nice priorities, Jack. Who are the other two players on the campaign?”  
“No confirmation yet, but you can expect some major hotties. CK never fails.”

While finishing up the last touches with the make up, Lena for sure can think of some beautiful players she’d love to partner up with to a underwear photoshoot session.

  
  
  


Lena’s head pounds as she runs madly across the field. Her fertile imagination can conjure up images of 10, 15 players coming at her to steal the ball, legs raised to hurt her. But Lena’s body’s slick and even after slipping on the freshly cut grass, she manages to haul herself up using her hands, dribbling 3 faceless people at the same time.

The back of her eyes sting, but when she successfully manages to thrust the ball at exact calculated angle, on the right corner of the goalpost, the cheers of an imaginary crowd fill her body with joy.

It’s a humid day in Madrid and the jersey clings to her skin as Lena runs to retrieve the ball.

The weight of the ball sits comfortably in her hands as she places it on the right corner of the penalty area. Her best foot is the left one, but coach Wayne has been urging her to perfect her right one and be prepared for every situation.

Lena takes a deep breath and a few steps back, eyeing the left angle of the post. Confidently, she starts running and lends the ball a swift kick, watching as it performs the exact movement she was hoping for, but ultimately misses the goal by a few inches.

Frustration rises on the back of her mind, and Lena mumbles “Fuck” as she jogs to recover the ball.

She stubbornly positions the ball on the same spot as before, rising the hem of the practice jersey to her face to wipe the sweat on her forehead and missing the person who approaches the field, saying, “Try standing up a little straighter.”

She lifts her head to watch Jessica Hoang - the resourceful goalkeeper of Real and Lena’s good friend - nearing from the center line to give her a hug. “Glad to see you,” Jess mumbles, her arms encircling Lena.

Lena returns the sentiment, squeezing Jess tight and asking, “What is it about posture, you say?”

Her friend laughs. “You know I did ballet for 15 years,” she starts, backing up to reach the goalpost. “Whenever I’d be nervous about something, standing perfectly straight for just a few seconds would always do the trick.”

At Lena’s skeptical look, Jess insists. “C’mon, don’t be a minx. Try it.”

Lena nods, repositions the ball and closes her eyes. Exhaling a deep breath, she lifts her head and forces her column to remain straight for one or two seconds, and then immediately launches for the ball.

She watches as the ball curves on air, moved by the wind, and even though Jess stretches as long as she possibly can, she is unable to stop the moving force of the trajectory, and Lena smiles as she perfectly scores the goal.

  
  
  


With Jack on his long and well-deserving vacation, Lena has to fend for herself for a few weeks. Being the trustworthy agent that he is, Jack has already left a good five-star hotel booked for her in Paris and has hired a trustworthy driver to take Lena from the hotel to the venue where the Calvin Klein’s photoshoot is being staged.

Lena greets the doorman in french, having picked up the basic years before as a obligatory subject in boarding school, and rides the elevator till the penthouse, briefly missing Jack and the annoying shooting games he seems to be addicted to.

A small woman with a clipboard approaches her as she enters the hall, guiding Lena to a dimly lit room illuminated only by a couple reflectors, giving the place a dark greyish appearance. The head photographer greets her with a tight-lipped smile and explains how the shoot is going to go: a few solo pictures, a backstage video of the session to post on the website and one or two pictures with the three of them.

Before Lena can ask exactly who are the other girls photographing, she’s swapped away to a secluded room and thrust into hair and makeup.

And damn it if these people are professional. In no time, her hair is done in perfectly gentle waves that accentuate her face and look impossibly soft. Her makeup, very light in order to give the impression of a natural setting, gets stronger around the eyes, making the green in them shine through.

After, a very polite young man hands her the underwear which she’s going to be modelling in and a silk robe, gesturing to a corner with a mirror where she can get changed. Lena’s not sure if Jack sent the Calvin Klein managers her exact numbers or they’re just spectacularly skilled in their jobs, because the bra and panties combination fits her like a glove, hugging her breasts and highlighting her flat stomach and the strong skin of her inner thighs.

She wraps herself in the silk robe and gets out of the room, immediately facing Kara Danver’s semi-naked form.

Lena’s paralyzed for a moment, unable to stop staring at the goddess on Earth in front of her. Unsurprisingly, in an underwear similar to Lena’s and with blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, Kara is even more gorgeous there next to her, within reach, than she is through the television or in magazines.

Kara sends dazzling smiles to the camera, messing with her hair and posing provocatively to an imaginary figure. She has the kind of abs Lena would kill for, and for a second she imagines herself running her tongue all over them before Kara’s eyes lock with hers and her breathing ceases.

Kara’s piercing blue gaze fixates on her, sending shivers down her spine. The blonde woman sends her a small grin before turning back to the photographer, prompted by a strong “Eyes on the audience, Kara” command.

Lena has an urge to sit and that’s exactly what she does. Her posture feels shaky as she slides into a comfortable booth in the back of the room, powerless to move her eyes away from Kara’s confident self. Lena’s so fixated on the way the woman’s neck muscles strain as she throws her head back in a laugh that she doesn’t notice a robe-clad form sitting down right by her side and saying, “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

Caught staring, Lena turns her head to meet Sara Lance’s eyes, nodding. “Very much so, yes.”

“It’s just her aura, man,” Sara trails off. “And her face. God, I’d die to have that face.”

Lena can agree with the sentiment, although a thought flashes on her mind regarding where exactly on her body she’d die to have that face.

“Good game, by the way,” says Sara, turning to look at Lena’s face properly. “Thanks for not murdering us.”

Just a few days ago, Real Madrid and Manchester United played a tight game, with Real winning with a 2x1 score, the last goal being scored at the the very last two minutes of the extra time. Playing against United is always done reverently for Lena, and she never exaggeratedly cheers, mindful of the team that gave her her first chance.

Lena shakes her head. “You have a good team. It was a tough game.”

“Nah,” Sara disdains. “We have an okay team and a fucking stubborn coach. Refuses to replace the girls when they’re exhausted and puts in line the quality of the game.”

The woman downs the rest of a water bottle in one go, probably wishing it had alcohol in it, and continues. “We’re probably gonna get shook up in Premier but it’s fine. One day after another.”

“The World Cup is around the corner,” Lena tries to reassure, just as Kara’s finished photographing and huddles next to the computer to choose the best pictures. “It’ll give you all time to evaluate and create a better strategy.”

Sara shrugs. “I guess.”

“How’s your sister, by the way?” Lena asks, reminiscing the great soccer always played by Laurel Lance.

“She’s good, yeah”, the woman next to her mumbles, biting the head of the plastic bottle. “Wants to settle down, just signed with Borussia. Might retire playing for United, though.”

“It’d be cute seeing you play together again on the team that revealed you both to the world,” Lena says, smiling softly.

Sara gets a look just as soft on her face. “She thinks so too.”

The photographer sends Kara away and calls Sara up front. The woman takes off her robe right there, and being just human like everybody else, Lena appreciates the way the muscles on her calf and back move and slide as Sara walks certainly to the front of the camera.

Lena can admit Sara photographs very well and charms the camera, and the photographer captures that exactly when she starts making goofy poses, but she doesn’t feel as drawn to it as she previously had, not enough to gather her full attention. Just as her mind starts wandering off, Lena notices slow rock playing on the background.

And then a robe-clad Kara Danvers sits by her side, making Lena very aware of both of their state of undressing. “Hi,” the blonde says, grinning.

“Hello,” Lena stutters, gulping down the sudden pull of attraction she can feel curling around herself. Kara Danvers smells amazing even through the many centimeters that separate them.

The blonde woman extends her hand. “Kara Danvers,” she says, in a tone that fills Lena with fondness.

“Oh, I know you, Miss Danvers.” Lena smirks and reaches for her hand, acutely aware of the wild strands of hair brushing against Kara’s cheeks. “You can’t win both Premier’s Golden Boot and Player of the Season and not expect people to know who you are.”

Kara ducks her head, blushing. “Kara, please,” she insists. “And the awards thing… Just a lot of luck. And a great team with a great coach.”

“Don’t be modest. You deserve it.”

The look Kara sends her is so strong and earnest Lena feels like this girl is messing with her whole respiratory system. “Hearing that from you means so much to me.  You’re so - so awesome and big and the way you play has like always really inspired me so thank you for saying that. I know I sound a little starstruck”

Now Lena’s cheeks are the ones tainted pink as she says, “Not at all. You’re quite welcome.”

They both turn around to watch the very end of Sara’s shooting, and in no time it’s Lena’s turn.

As soon as she takes out her robe, Lena can feel many eyes staring at her, and she canalizes the attention she receives into provocative poses. She knows she’s attractive and has a great body, and knows how to use her assets - her ass and boobs, no pun intended - to draw the watchful eyes of the world. Lena’s session might be the most serious one so far, and while there is not much laughs, the one picture of Lena staring over her shoulder as her hair makes it look like she has no bra is probably the best photo she’s ever taken.

The two women sitting on the leather couch whisper, unable to take theirs eyes off of her, and Lena ventures a wink in their direction.

Sara, in a hurry to get to an early evening appointment, rushes them into doing the group photos.

“Lena, you can stay between the two of them,” the photographer says, explaining the aesthetic of black hair between two blondes.

And Lena may look a little hesitant, because the next laughing words out of Sara’s mouth are, “Don’t worry, I won’t bite.”

The heat radiating from the bodies around her make Lena feel dizzy, and in a bold move she reaches out to touch Sara’s thigh and leans forward to grasp Kara’s shoulder, molding all of them together. Turning around and lightly running their hands over one another, Lena’s sure the session toes the line between provocative and outright sexy. Kara stands sideways, firmly touching Lena’s wrists, and she’s sure the blonde woman can feel her erratic pulse as Sara molds herself on her back.

In one moment, her chest brushes with Kara’s, warming up her body from head to toe, and Lena’s sure the memory of her fingers dancing over her sides are going to become fuel to many toe-curling moments in the future.

As soon as the shoot ends, Lena notes no disturbance on her partners faces, and in hopes they’ll ignore her flushed cheeks, turns to ask Kara,“What about you? Do you bite?”

Which later she realizes was a bad idea, because there’s fire in Kara’s eyes when she responds, “Only when asked.”

  
  
  


Afterwards, Lena changes back into the clothes she arrived at the shoot with: dark washed denim jeans and a grey sweater.  Thanking and bidding farewell to the very helpful assistants that guided her through, Lena leaves the room with thoughts of chinese take out and the early night line up of the sport’s channel.

Kara Danvers stands right beside the elevator, head leaned down towards her cell phone, her eyebrows furrowed. The simple sight of her is enough to elicit a reaction in Lena’s gut, all the way to her hands and behind her eyelids. With her blonde hair wrapped in a tight ponytail and a shiny black leather jacket hugging her curves, Kara carries herself with the electric kind of energy Lena finds irresistible.

Lena approaches her, pressing the elevator button. “Still here, Kara?”

The woman looks up and fumbles with her phone, putting it away in her pocket. “Yeah, I meant to talk to you.” Kara reaches to adjust her glasses - God, she wears glasses for heaven’s sake - and even through the resistant material of the jacket Lena can see the way her muscles stretch. “Was wondering if you’d like to catch some dinner with me.”

The car arrives and they both enter, giving Lena time to hide her excitement. “Oh.”

Her answer must make Kara’s confidence falter, because she widens her eyes and stutters. “Yeah I mean it’s totally okay for you to decline, obviously. But I just thought - I mean, I thought it would be nice to get to know you better before the press starts pitting one of us against the other.” She pauses. “You know, with the League starting right now and all and I’m probably rambling but-”

“I know what you mean,” Lena interrupts, resting her hand lightly on Kara’s shoulder. The blonde softly flexes her muscles and it takes everything in Lena not to grip if more firmly. “I’m very familiar with the dirty tricks pulled by the press.”

“Yes, exactly.” A heartbeat passes as Lena watches the elevator numbers slowly going down, and childish song starts playing from Kara’s cell phone, startling them both. She clumsily fiddles with it, shaking her head. “Gosh, I’m so sorry… It’s the notification of the little game I was playing before…”

Lena chuckles, amused.  “Don’t worry, I’m used to it. Jack is addicted to phone games too.”

Kara eyes her curiously. “Jack’s the man that was with you on the UEFA event, right? Your husband?”

Lena shakes her head, aware that Jack would tease her mercilessly if he was there. “No, no, I don’t have a husband, he’s just a good friend of mine, “ she says. “Me and Jack… like different things, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh.” Kara widens her eyes, chuckling. The elevator arrives on the ground floor and they both step out. She turns to Lena, her blonde hair hallowed by the dim light of the hotel lobby. “So, what do you say? Up for some good french food?”

Lena appeases her softly. “Lead the way, Miss Danvers.”

  
  
  


The restaurant is nearby, and the two women walk there in a companionable silence,  surrounded by the chilly parisian air. Looking around, Lena understands exactly why Paris is called the City of Love: it’s impossible not to get caught in the infatuating atmosphere amidst the soft fairy lights, quaint baroque homes and the pleasant smell of soil, flowers and perfume attached to every single street.

The company is also pivotal.

A chubby red-cheaked man welcomes them to the restaurant with well-placed flair. Kara greets him with a hug and french slipping easily out of her tongue, gesturing to Lena in rapid speech that she struggles to comprehend.

“C’mon,” Kara says, tugging her by the wrist to a reserved corner, guiding her with a soft hand of the small of her back.

Sitting down, Lena looks around and takes in the little bistro. It follows the same aesthetic that seems to be perpetuated in every corner of the town, but without feeling forced: charming lights lit up the whole place, illuminating marble countertops and liquor shelves. Human sized tarot cards are sculptured on glass on the walls and, expecting a high rooftop to embellish the venue, Lena looks up to find the first stars of the night decorating the glass ceiling.

“This place is beautiful, “ Lena says, just as Kara’s sitting down.

The blonde woman smiles, looking right at home among the golden-white-maroon color palette. “Right? I haven’t been able to stop coming here after I found it a couple years ago.”

“How so?” she inquires as a waiter sets down glasses of water and menus in front of them.

Kara wrings her hands, displaying beautiful silver rings Lena hadn’t noticed yet. “I was born here in Paris but, hum, destiny made me move to Canada. Four years ago when I was playing in Nice I’d find the most ridiculous excuses to come down to the city, just to wander. Got lost one day and found shelter here. Haven’t forgotten about it since.”

“It feels very domestic.”

“Absolutely. It’s the perfect place for when I just want to avoid photographers and have some peace,” she remarks, and Lena can agree with the feeling.

A young garçon approaches the table, asking if they’re ready to order.

Kara scans the menu quickly, confirming her request with the waiter. She looks at Lena, who says, “I really have no idea about what is good. Order for me.”

The blonde’s gaze darkens as she does so, and half a second later a bearded man in a dark suit comes near the table, setting down and uncorking a bottle of wine. Kara dismisses him in order to serve the drink herself, filling both of the glasses to the top.

“You know,” Lena says, feeling herself loose at the first sip of the expensive Beaujolais. “I was born in Ireland and then moved to America as a child, raised in California. Sometimes I feel like finding a place like this is exactly what I need to really reconnect to it.”

Kara looks at her with soft features, and Lena’s eyes dart to her lips, pink from the wine. “You shouldn’t force it. Good things always have a natural way of finding you.”

Lena fixates her eyes with the blonde’s. “Yes. They do.”  
  
  
  


In no time, the waiter sets up a soup topped with a golden crust in front of Kara and mashed potatoes and meat for herself.

Kara points at her plate. “That’s a hachis parmentier. It’s kind of like the french version of shepherd's pie, but with juicier beef and much tastier,” she explains. “And I have a soupe à l’oignon. It’s the mother of all soups, basically, but is filled with thick bread that creates this fantastic crust on top. Feel free to taste it if you wanna.”

“You seem to love food,” Lena says, taking a bite of the dish and moaning with the explosion of flavor.

Kara eyes her intently. “It’s really one of my biggest passions. Wanted to be a chef when I was a kid.”

“And why choose soccer?” she asks.

Kara shrugs. “I really liked it and my parents thought I was good.”

“Parent’s approval certainly isn’t enough to make a career out of something,” Lena points out.

Kara’s eyes crink on the corners. “You’re underestimating my need for approval,” she says, lips pursing for a moment. “What about you? Why soccer?”

Lena fills both of their wine glasses again. “I was a chubby child,” she says. “And my family was all tangled in sports already, so it seemed like the obvious decision.”

“Hard to believe you were ever chubby,” Kara interrupts with mirth in her face, roaming Lena’s body with her eyes.

She blushes. “Well, I was. So father signs me up to play it and I end up loving it. Play all the way through high school and end up forcingly doing biochemistry in college. I quit it without ever finishing the first semester and come to Europe to try my luck until I get picked up by Real.”

Lena looks down on her food, feeling her tongue numbing from the alcohol. “I guess you just unlocked my tragic backstory.”

Kara laughs heartily. “We gotta go on at least three more dates for you to unlock mine.” Pausing to ponder her choice of words, the blonde shakes her head and touches the wine bottle, squeezing her eyes. “Think I had a little too much to drink, I’m starting to wander.”

Knowing very well the both of them had just enough of alcohol to start saying things they’d usually repress, Lena finishes eating in silence. It’s impossible to ignore the thick layer of attraction permeating the space they share, and she bites her lip in order to dim the flutter of her heartbeat every time Kara’s eyes find hers across the table.

Her attention gets pulled by the muscles in Kara’s forearms, and Lena confesses, “Being very honest, I only kept playing soccer for such a long time to see the annoyed look on mother’s face.”

Tease dances in Kara’s eyes. “I guess we all have our mommy and daddy issues.”

  
  
  


A bearded man approaches their table, and politely asks if he can get a picture with the both of them.  He places himself in the middle of them, smiling brightly as his girlfriend snaps the photograph.

Afterwards, he shakes Kara’s hand firmly, staring in her eyes as he says in french, “Play well, play well.”

Kara’s laughing when she sits down on the table, and Lena tilts her head in confusion. “I don’t get the humor.”

Kara purses her lips. “I’m playing against United States on the weekend, just an amicable game before the Cup.”

Lena pauses, gaze moving to the skin of Kara’s biceps, where the shadow of a dark tattoo peaks out. Her hands clench with the effort no to touch it. “And?”

“They’re coached by Cat Grant.” Realizing Lena hasn’t connected the dots yet, Kara keeps going, somewhat reluctant. “Me and her had a bit of a… complicated history in the past, it ended very badly and now she doesn’t try to hide her insatisfaction with looking at my face.”

When realization dawns on her face, Lena widens her eyes, “Oh. So you and Cat Grant…”

“Yep.”

Even though Kara doesn't make an effort to hide her sexuality, and Lena’s sure she probably could figure it out for herself with a superficial Google search, the simplicity in which she speaks about it and the confirmation of an old guess makes Lena’s hands tingle.

She clears her throat. “Didn’t peg her for your type,” she says, remembering her old days of misery when Cat used to coach United, always making them train twice as hard to be prepared for everything.

They won the Premier League with her, though, so Lena can’t quite complain.

Kara’s tongue pokes out between her lips. “I’m a woman of many surprises.”

  
  
  


They share a plate of crêpes suzette for dessert; the authentic ones, not the american ones, that Kara deems a “chocolate syrupy mess”.

Unsurprisingly, Kara Danvers proves herself to be an amazing company, much more intelligent and thoughtful than the media outlets make her seem. By the end of the night, not only her stomach but also her heart is full, and Lena reckons she hasn’t had such a good time in months. Her mouth hurts from smiling and talking, and she struggles to wrap her head around the fact this dinner has been nothing more than a amicable meeting between professionals, doesn’t matter the messages written in Kara’s eyes.

When the waiter arrives with the bill, Kara’s hand reaches faster than hers to grab it. “Hey,” she admonishes. “Let’s split it.”

“Nonsense.” Kara bats her hand away when she reaches for it again, adjusting her glasses to check the items. “I invited, I pay.”

Feeling bold from the many wine glasses, Lena whines, “That doesn't feel fair.”

“I’ll tell you what.” Kara’s gaze darkens. “Pay me back by letting me walk you to your hotel.”

Her body shivers, and Lena nods.

  
  
  


It’s a twenty-minute walk to her hotel, and midway there Kara takes off her jacket and places on Lena’s shoulders.

“I run hot,” she says, as a matter of explanation.

Lena side-eyes her, and the view of the sharp angle of Kara’s jaw is enough to warm up her body.

Kara offers Lena her arm and she takes it, gripping firmly the strong forearms.

“When is your next match?” Kara asks, her voice like a secret between the two of them, dissipating the noise created by the city.

“Next weekend,” she answers. “I think I sort of invited your sister.”

“My sister?” She can hear the confusion in Kara’s voice.

“We met in a bathroom, it’s a long story.” Memories of the conversation with Alex suddenly flood Lena’s mind. “She says you think I’m badass.”

Kara laughs at the way her mouth curls around this unfamiliar word. “I really do, though. ‘m not hiding it.”

Lena’s very aware of the burning she feels in her skin in every place her body touches Kara’s and, as they arrive in front of her hotel, she struggles to let go.

They stand in front of each other, and it feels like a romantic comedy. A million alarms set off in Lena’s mind, thousand of lights warning her of the danger of a distraction, even one as tempting as this woman in front of her. A thick dizziness spreads in Kara’s eyes, and Lena gulps.

“I had a really good time tonight, Lena,” the blonde says, her breath ghosting over Lena’s face.

An insistent warmness pools low on her gut with the way Kara’s lips move to spell her name. “Me too.”

With her heels, Lena is almost the same height as Kara, as she takes advantage of that to whisper good night against her cheek, pressing a goodbye kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Get home safely.”

Kara nods, grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss there. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Lena repeats, the distance being the one to separate their hands, and she watches as Kara drifts aways, sparing her one last glance and smile over her shoulder.

If she were someone else, with a different life and other responsibilities, she’d run to Kara and drag her into hotel room, let that delicious woman ravish her completely.

But she’s still Lena Luthor. And Lena Luthor turns around and walks back into the hotel.

  
  
  


Hours later, when’s she’s out of her makeup and letting the air conditioner cool down her underwear clad body, Lena’s phone dings.

She opens her email notification to find a message from [ kara_zdanvers@gmail.com ](mailto:kara_zdanvers@gmail.com) that reads: _Had a great time last night. Hope we can do it again. (PS. Made my manager get your email from your manager. Don’t freak out)._

Lena sends a message back with only her phone number, and then turns off her device, setting it down on the bed.

After that, she falls asleep within minutes.


	2. bigger and brighter than space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about posting it again, but ao3 glitched and the chapter didn't show up on the right spot on the feed.
> 
> thank you very much to all people who already commented and gave kudos, you guys inspire me everyday!
> 
> sorry for the mess up, hope you can forgive me.
> 
> yet again, taylor swift's reputation feels like the perfect soundtrack to this chapter.

The soft sunlight streaming through the windows is ultimately what wakes Lena up. Even with the curtains, the sun rays fall right on top of Lena’s eyes, forcing her to wake up from a deep slumber permeated with strong abs, piercing blue eyes and soft blonde hair.

Much later, after Kara Danvers' smile has drifted from her mind, she notices the insistent buzzing from the iPhone resting on the side of her head, probably what really woke her up.

Smearing a hand over her eyes, Lena grabs her phone, and with alarm notices 9 missed calls from one Jack Spheer.

She doesn’t even get the chance to say hello, because as soon as Lena positions the phone on her ear, Jack’s insistent voice comes through. “I can’t believe you went on a date with Kara Danvers when I wasn’t there.”

His words barely register on her sleep fogged brain. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“Don’t even try to deny it,” Jack says, exasperated. “I’ve seen the pictures.”

Lena sits down on the bed, propped up by the pillows, realization slowly dawning on her. She doesn’t get a chance to answer, because Pete’s voice rings on the background of Jack’s call, mingled with the sound of waves. “There’s a five hour difference between Bangkok and Paris, you idiot.”

Jack sighs. “Wake up, check your social media and then call me back. Quick.”

Lena stares at her phone as the call disconnects, an uneasy feeling starting to spread in her gut. 283 messages stare right at her when she opens her message tab, and Lena decides to ignore them in order to make a quick google self-search.

The very first result reads:  _Soccer stars Kara Danvers and Lena Luthor enjoy cozy evening in Paris._

A picture of the two of them stamps the article and it holds Lena’s attention for several moments. Her head is leaned on Kara’s shoulder, and she’s looking down with a pleased expression on her face. Kara, glasses slipping down on her nose, has her eyes crinkled in a smile, cheekbones tainted pink, probably from the wine.

If she wasn’t a part of the scene, Lena would think those two were a couple. And a happy one at that.

Her staring is disrupted by more messages coming to her phone, and she can tell is Sam insistently inquiring her about the pictures, but she foregoes checking it to read the article instead.

It’s an awful fluff piece probably written by some unqualified intern responsible for the night shift. Ignoring some spelling errors, the part that gets Lena’s attention the most is the article’s remark that she’s leaning on Kara’s recent operated shoulder, and even though she must be feeling some strong pain, Kara seems more than happy to serve as her prop.

_Love is bigger than all pains, right folks?_

Lena takes a deep breath, trying to calm down her racing heart, and heads straight to the bathroom.

The word  _love_ rings through her head as Lena splashes her face with ice cold tap water. She doesn’t think she has loved anyone in her entire life, apart from Lex and her dad, and even if the idea of loving Kara Danvers makes her spine tingle, she shakes her head quickly to get rid of these thoughts.

She barely knows Kara Danvers, and doesn’t have enough interactions or a solid relationship with her to even consider the prospect of falling in love.

Right?

Lena comes back to the bed, laying on her back and staring at the intricate woodwork on the ceiling. Dialling Jack again, she finds it amusing when he answers on the first ring. “So, Kara Danvers, huh,” he says, glee coating his voice.

“Fucking hell, Jack.”

Lena can almost feel his furrowed eyebrows when he says next, “What’s with this discontentment? Thought you’d be happy to get laid after months of drought. I mean, didn’t think you’d go for such a jock but whatever floats your boat.”

Lena huffs, sitting up. “Nothing happened. We just had dinner.”

“Oh.” Her friend has the audacity to sound disappointed. “So, still dry?”

“Jack, I’m gonna have to beg you to shut up,” she says, exasperated. “We went to a lovely little bistro, ate, drank some wine and that’s the end of it.”

The line goes silent again for a moment until Jack says, “Well, and how was it?”

Lena starts twirling her hair between her fingers. “It was enjoyable.”

“That’s it? I know how you get when you’re drunk on wine.”

“She said she wanted to get to know me better before the media starts pitying one of us against the other. It was sweet, really.”

“You underestimate what people do to get into your pants,” Jack says, disdain filling his voice.

“Hush,” Lena says.

“No, I mean,“ Jack keeps going, “Kara Danvers at least seems committed to her objective. No sex on the first date, a gentlewoman.”

She insists. “God, it wasn’t a  _date_.”

“Excuse me, you can’t convince me otherwise,” Jack interrupts. “I mean, you’ve seen the pictures, right? You two look absolutely lovestruck. It’s a good look on you, my friend. And don’t even try to tell me you didn’t enjoy it because I’m sure you did.”

“Jack,” Lena warns, threateningly.

“No. Stop denying these good things that clearly make you happy, Lena. You should go for it. No looking back.”

“That’s not going to happen,” she says, thinking if she repeats it many times it’s going to be enough to make her believe it. “Can you even imagine me dating Kara Danvers? No chance it’s happening. I’d be so out of focus it’d be the end of me.”

Jack huffs, and the background sound fades as he probably finds a quieter place to talk. “I can’t believe you’re putting your career above your happiness all over again.”

“Well, I can,” she says, grasping the sheets in frustration, feeling anger bubbling up in her throat at being called out so blatantly. “You were there with me four years ago when mother said I would end up as a supermarket cashier. I thought you’d get it but you clearly don’t, Jack. Nothing can distract me. Being the best is my top priority right now.”

Jack sighs, clearly resignated and she lets her head fall against the pillows again, getting refreshed by the warming sunlight and trying to calm down her beating heart.

Blue eyes keep flashing in Lena’s mind until Jack says, softly, “You know I think it’s bullshit, right? You got there, Lena. You are the best. Nobody doubts it, your mom can suck a dick. But even the greatest needs to be loved at some point.”

She releases a deep breath through her nose. “I know, I know,” she says, voice shaky. “Just give me some time, ok? I’ll sort it out. I’ll get there.”

Jack hums, and they fall into silence, hearing each other’s soft puffs of breath through the line.

Lena breaks it. “How’s the public opinion?”

Jack chuckles and she can’t help the tilt of the corners of her mouth. “It’s good,” he says, amusedly. “Lesbian twitter is going nuts, obviously. You two are the new Kristen-Stella.”

“Of course,” Lena laughs.

“The straights are yet again insisting on the whole gal-pal thing,” Jack continues. “Most of them think Kara’s gonna go rogue and move to Real after the Cup.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “They’ve really crossed the line this time.”

“Agreed,” her friend says, playing it along. “Listen, I gotta go now, Peter just walked into the room and he’s only in his underwear, I have to do something about it. Think about what I said, ok? Love ya honey.”

“Have good sex,” Lena wishes, but her friend has already disconnected the call.

She falls back into the bed, biting her bottom lip and closing her eyes. She can admit Jack’s correct, but deep down Lena knows it’s not the right time to invest in a romantic relationship of any kind, even if she craves the physical company that comes with it. Being with Kara Danvers, holding her hand and pressing close next to her gave Lena a fuzzy feeling behind her eyelids, but she guesses she’s simply missing the whole novelty of being intimate with somebody.

She needs to get laid, that’s all.

Lena’s musings are interrupted by an insistent vibration coming from her phone. She grabs the device and, realizing she can’t avoid her fate anymore, opens the message app.

A text from an unknown number she assumes it’s Kara thanks to the profile picture of a Golden Retriever on a soccer jersey sits at the top of the queue, followed by 34 messages from Sam, 12 from Jack and 8 from Jess. The rest comes from her teammates on both Real and the Irish Soccer Team, and Lena is amused to find out that a few of the texts were even sent by some Manchester United players. Sara Lance’s, for example, says simply  _Yo. U fucking??_

She opens Kara’s first. It reads  _i’m really sorry for everything that’s gonna come ur way. had a great time and didn’t want it to end like this. should’ve paid more attention anyway. hope u don’t regret it tho. it’s kara btw hope ur ok._

Well, that pretty much sums everything up, Lena thinks. There it is Kara Danvers, with her undeniable light-spirited kind self, not trying for a minute to shift the blame to Lena, taking the whole responsibility to herself and even making sure Lena’s fine and comfortable with the unwind of events. This simple act of consideration makes her heart race, and Lena replays Jack’s words in her head.

Lena decides to ponder a bit about what she’s going to send back, chose the words carefully to convey the right message. Meanwhile, she opens Jack’s 12-message breakdown and immediately closes it since she’s already talked to him, sends to Jess a  _Just woke up. Saw the pictures. Doing some damage control right now but call me back in an hour_ and after scanning Sam’s all caps messages, simply and promptly tells her to  _Shut the hell up_.

Which, of course, leads to Sam calling her less than twenty seconds later, exactly how she predicted.

“You got laid,” Sam yells as soon as she answers the phone.

Lena almost tells her she  _wishes._ What she says instead, very seriously, is, “I’m going to hang up.”

“No, don’t do that,” Sam begs quickly, and Lena can imagine her friend moving frantically on top of her couch, tucking brown hair behind her ears. She continues, “Just tell me. Is Kara Danvers as good as people say she is?”

Lena bites her fingernail, scratching her tooth over the surface. “People talk about her?”

“I mean,“ her friend starts, and Lena can feel in her voice that Sam would  rather be talking about something else. “She’s young, really fit, blonde, blue eyes, sunny smile. Very strong arms and legs, wow, seriously girl, congratulations -”

“Sam,” she chides, pretending she’s not imagining those strong legs wrapped around certain parts of her body.

“And you know how these soccer girls are. Very thirsty. I assume it’s mostly speculation, though. Never heard of her going around.”

Lena hums, secretly grateful. “It doesn’t matter, though,” she chooses to say. “Nothing happened between us.”

“Oh,” Sam says, and her disappointed tone sounds so much like Jack that Lena almost laughs at the similarity between her friends.

Lena adjusts herself between the pastel-coloured pillows, unconsciously twirling dark locks of hair between her fingers. “Don’t sound so frustrated about it.”

“I just can’t believe you lost the opportunity to get some,” Sam says, sounding sincere and almost pure.

Her voice reminds Lena of the girl she met when they were both 14 year olds, sharing a dream and the same room in the Santa Elena all-girls boarding school. The 3 years Lena spent in Chile, awkwardly fumbling with Sam in the dark, smoking marijuana cigarettes at two AM and hiding razor blades behind her longs skirts just for the thrill of being discovered made she find out what it meant to be free, away from the prying fingers of her mother and the ever-present comparisons with Lex.

“It’s not like I’m never going to get a chance again,” Lena says as a matter of fact.

Sam snorts. “Honestly, with the way you’re going, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Lena laughs without intending to, and listens to ruffling on the other side of the line before Sam does the same. “You’re the worst,” Lena says.

“Yeah, I know. But what happened, though?” her friend asks. “Jack told me you had a big crush on this girl.”

Lena narrows her eyes even if her friend can’t see it, regretting everything she’s ever told Jack. “First of all, stop talking to Jack about my love life.”

“But it’s become so interesting these days,” Sam whines.

“Second of all,” Lena continues, hopping off the bed and heading to the room balcony. The soft parisian air fills her lungs. “We only just met. I’m also not interested in dating anyone.”

“Keep pretending but you looked very much interested in those pictures,” Sam remarks.

“I was drunk and horny, that’s what,” Lena clarifies insistently, watching as bikes and cars fill the awakening morning of the city. “Besides, it’s World Cup year, I need to be on my best shape.”

Sam sighs, and Lena can feel her excuse slipping through her fingers more and more every time she says it.

The worst thing about it is that it’s true. When Lillian dropped her career all over Jack’s arms nearly 4 years ago, a brand new objective became Lena’s fixation: being the number one soccer player in the world and proving not only her mother wrong but also proving to herself that the decisions she made when she was 9 and later when she was 17 were the right ones. Recently, she was getting almost there, being nominated to the Ballon d’Or award for the past 3 years, yet ultimately losing them to the now retired Barcelona player Selina Kyle.

Lena feels like this is her year, though, and nothing can get in the middle of her success.

“I mean, what’s better for your shape than being fucked, but listen, I’m not gonna lecture you,” Sam quickly says. “Besides, Jack’s probably done enough of that for the both of us. I’m just gonna ask you one thing. Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am,” Lena says, and when Kara Danver’s smile swims through her mind once again, she wishes she could believe it.

“Then I trust your decision,” Sam finishes. “You know what’s best for yourself.”

Sam hangs up soon after, not insisting on the subject anymore. Her friend’s quiet resignation has Lena considering the many ways this situation could play out and, for the first time since she’s woken up, Lena starts to wonder if she truly knows what’s right for herself.

Over two brain-twisting hours later, when Lena’s showered, thought incessantly about the subject and is just waiting to go to the airport, she sits down on the room balcony again, phone cradled in her hands and the view from the Eiffel Tower on the distance making her feel invincible.

Confidently, she opens the conversation with Kara again, only slightly dancing her fingers over the buttons, until she sends a  _Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. Everything is going to be fine. I had fun and would love to see you again. - Lena_

Jack’s words ring on her head once again, and she bites her lip when Kara sends back a series of emojis: ship, alien and calendar ones.

Lena deserves to see where this could lead her.

She opens the group chat with Sam and Jack and types hurriedly, turning off her phone right after. The text reads,  _You win. Maybe I’’ll give it a try._

The beat of the crowd chanting Seven Nation Army matches the thump of Lena’s own heart as she and the Irish National Soccer Team march into the field, readly to play a friendly against Italy, a quick warm up before their participation in the FIFA World Cup.

Holding the Ireland flag in one hand and carrying a very small and chubby blonde baby on the other arm, Lena walks in the front of the line, exercising her task as the team’s captain. Keeping her head upright, Lena knows that looking confident is only the first step in guaranteeing a victory, and the rest is to be demonstrated on the field.

Both anthems are quickly sung as a television camera captures every reaction of the players, panning from side to side. As for Lena’s, she’s sure the viewers had and eyeful of her misty-eyed self hearing the whole crowd cheer and yell along the anthem. Even if this isn’t a very important match, Lena feels the need to show how good she can be at every game, and make sure her fellow irish people are proud of her work and happy she naturalised herself as an irish citizen two years ago.

She feels like she’s done a good enough job in taking the country to the Cup, but even one single game can be enough to change the public’s perception of her.

Lena gives the baby back to a FIFA assisting, kissing the child’s little head and smelling the baby powder fragrance, feeling like it’s going to give her luck. The referee calls her and Italy’s captain to the center - Barbara Gordon, the Manchester City star attacker whose quick legs and ability to pass unnoticed through the defense line earned her the nickname of Batgirl - and flips a coin to determine which team starts with the ball and which team chooses the sides.

The coin falls with heads facing up, and Lena wins, choosing the left side as soon as the referee asks. “It’s my lucky one,” she says, sharing a smile and a greeting with Barbara.

Both teams slip into formation, and Lena revels in the few seconds in which she can just close her eyes and let the screams of the crowd soak into her bones before the referee blows the whistle and the ball starts rolling.

The attackers manage to exchange a few passes, wasting some time in order to feel the atmosphere of the game. Lena, however, is impatient, wanting to score, so when the italian midfielder Cassandra Cain dares a risky long pass to a very near the goalpost Barbara Gordon, Lena jumps out and intercepts the ball with her head, catching it with her sternum and lounging it forward.

Lena almost falls on her knees, the wet grass scratching her legs and making unhealed bruises sting, but she braces herself on her hands and keeps on running, maintaining the ball on her feet and moving swiftly between the defense. She feels the approach of the corpulent Barda Free on her side intending to disarm her, but Lena then dribbles the woman easily, pretending to move right and then going left, pushing the ball between the woman’s legs and hearing the intense cheers of the crowd.

Still running, Lena looks up and analyses the position of her teammates, deciding to cross the ball into the area and to the waiting feet of Siobhan Smythe, who kicks it with the upper side of her foot as soon as it arrives, only missing the goal by a few inches.

Lena winces and the crowd wheezes with the missed opportunity, lamenting not scoring the goal with less than 8 minutes on the clock. Siobhan raises her hands with a grim look on her face, pointing to herself to signal with was her own fault and apologizing for not having passed the ball to Karen Page, their teammate who was freely arriving on her right.

Italy dominates most of the first half of the game, with one of their clearest chances to score starting when the irish fullbacks lose the ball in the middle of an attack. Not wasting the counter attack, Cassandra Cain - who Lena soon realised was a star with her own merits, perhaps underused in the attack line up of Juventus - moved fast with her long legs, making it impossible for the defense to follow her quick pass exchange with Barbara Gordon, sending the ball to a woman in a pass that could easily leave her in front of the goal if the kick hadn’t been a bit too strong, making it easy for Ireland’s goalkeeper Lyra Strayd to wrap the ball safely in her arms before Barbara could even reach it.

Both teams go back to the changing room in the halftime tied with no points. Sweating, Lena falls back into the wood benches, closing her eyes and downing half a bottle of orange coloured Gatorade. Immediately she is approached by the Coach and his assistant, holding a clipboard. Since the match is not worth anything, Coach is using the game to analyze the strengths and weaknesses of the team, so they won’t commit the same mistakes during the World Cup.

After 4 consecutive times of not being part of the tournament, Ireland managed an improbable but glorious qualification to be a part of the games, mostly thanks to the outstanding performance made by Lena, which earned her recognition as being not only the best player of the Qualifiers but also an immovable force whose absence could mean absolute defeat to the Irish Nation Team.

On this stage of preparation, the team was betting on the force of their counter attacks and the individual talent of a handful of players, active participants in the most important leagues of Europe.

Coach sits down by her side, calling Siobhan to also come closer. “Both of you should invert positions,” he says, pointing to the tactical scheme on the clipboard. “Number 12 is the weakest midfielder and Lena’s got more speed to outrun her.”

“She just came back from a knee surgery,” Lena remarks while Siobhan drenches herself in water to cool down.

Coach nods. “She’s experient, though, so they’ll probably wait 15 minutes of so to substitute her, especially if we score first. In any case,” he continues, standing up. “You guys switch back as soon as she leaves, ‘cause Barda is stronger on the other side.”

The 15 minutes are soon up and they start with the ball this time. With Lena on the center of the attack system, she can clearly see how Number 12 is slower and weaker, always leaving large spaces on the field that she can easily pass through. With a shake of the head Lena realizes how dumb of a move it was from Italy’s coach to start the second half with her, because as soon as Lena steals the ball right under the woman’s feet, disarming the whole defense line of the opposite team, she already knows they’re going to score.

Lena rapidly changes the ball to her good foot, the left one, and runs like a freak through the midfield, occupying the empty spaces left by the italian defense line. Pushing and running with Jessica Drew and Rachel Cole on both her sides, she manages to end up on the right corner of the pitch, very near the byline area, and a few defenders even come down to try and disarm her but when she dribbles one of them and crosses the ball to the middle of the penalty area, Lena can already see Siobhan approaching it quickly from the left side and hitting the ball with the center of her forehead, making the ball hit the net in a indefensible goal.

The whole stadium explodes in screams that would make Lena’s ears hurt if she wasn’t so caught up in cheering herself. Siobhan runs frantically to her, wrapping her legs around Lena’s waist and hugging her tightly as they both laugh and yell. Other players come by and start slapping them playfully, congratulating them on the cleverness of their exchange of passes.

Every goal made by the team fills Lena with undescriptable happiness, assuring her that both herself and the team are on the right path and could move forward easily in the competition.

Number 12 is quickly substituted after that, and the rest of the game becomes easy. Barbara Gordon seems especially tuned out with the rest of the game, epically missing many of the outright amazing balls Cassandra sends her way.

In what could arguably be the last ball of the game, an unassuming moment where Lena finds herself rather free on Italy’s penalty area, Barda Free sends her falling with an aggressive sliding tackle, missing the ball completely.

Even if she isn’t one for complaining, Lena opens her arms in frustration with the rest of the team, eyeing the referee fixedly until he comes forward and rightfully signals the penalty.

Feeling some mild pain on her ankle, Lena gets up and dusts herself off, swiftly picking up the ball from the corner line and placing it right on the penalty spot.

She has a sort of ritual to do these sort of things, so while the referee calms down slight tumultation amongst the rest of the players she lifts her shorts to the middle of her thighs and shakes her legs to increase the blood flow there. When the referee blows the whistle allowing her to kick it, she takes a deep breath and mentalizes exactly where the ball will go, running quickly and propelling her feet to kick the ball right in the middle of the net, beautifully scoring as the goalie jumps to the left side.

The whole arena madly cheers again and Lena feels like the familiar weight she feels at every game has been lifted off of her shoulders as she runs quickly to the corners line, propelling herself up and opening her arms wide open when she lands on the ground, hearing the irish crowd echo her “Siiii” celebration at the same time she does it.

The game finishes quickly after the goal, with the official only allowing the goalie to take the goal kick before blowing the whistle signaling the end of the match.

A happy sensation fills Lena from head to toe, risking to swallow her whole, and she leaves the field smiling and clapping, hugging her teammates and accepting the congratulations and compliments they send her way.

She did a truly outstanding match and because of that Lena feels like she deserves to be celebrated highly. She ran like a madman, fought for every ball, stood up against every dirty trick the defenders prepared to slow her down and still managed to assist a beautiful goal and score one of her own. This feeling of well deserved high is one she cherishes dearly after every game and that sticks with her even when she has showered and is back on the bus on the way to the hotel, toes tingling as she reads the news coverage that call her an absolute genius in the making.

(One cheeky headline even reads  _Batgirl? Best beware the Machine_.)

A different kind of buzzing spreads against her body when Lena gets the alert that she received a message from Kara Danvers.

It’s a picture of Lena right before the game started, holding the baby on her left arm and staring straight ahead. Kara has written a caption, and it makes Lena laugh unconsciously.  _what are u doing holding my baby cousin?_

The infant does hold and uncanny similarity with Kara, mostly because of the blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Lena bites her lip, stopping any connections between Kara Danvers and a baby that her mind tries to conjure up, and decides to change the subject all together. She  _League superstar had nothing better to do than watch an insignificant match between two subpar teams?_ and softens the thought with a thinking emoji.

Three little dots pop up, followed by Kara’s answer.  _just keeping a look on the competition. you played well tonight, superstar._

Lena takes a deep breath, lowering her head to hide the blush gracing her cheeks. Her teammates haven’t noticed a thing, too occupied watching the game’s highlights and being excited and loud about their victory. God, Lena feels like such a teenager, experiencing the things she didn’t got to live when she was that age.

Biting her lip, Lena decides to make good use of her emojis, sending an embarrassed smile one. Kara sends one right back, a winky face one.

Lena notes carefully that Kara has changed her profile picture, and quickly clicks on it to check it up close.

Long gone is the adorable brown-nosed Golden Retriever, and Lena’s vision is quickly overflow with the sight of Kara’s well-defined abs in all of their glory. The blonde woman looks like she’s just finished some intense gym session, her skin glistening with sweat and the equipment reflecting in the mirror she’s standing in front of. Kara holds her phone in one hand and flexes her other arm, subtle veins popping out. Wearing a grey sweater and a black bralet, Lena notices with a sharp twist in her gut that Kara’s completely exposed stomach practically begs for attention.

In a slightly entranced movement, Lena takes one finger up to trace the cold screen of her phone before hastily pulling herself together and taking a deep breath, exiting the message app.

Clearing her throat and putting away her cell phone, Lena asks for Siobhan to pass her a bottle of water. “Make it a cold one.”

Lena downloads Snapchat two days later. Fed up with Sam incessantly begging and sending her the benefits of the app - “It’s so good for human connection, Lena!” -, she gives in and installs the it one night she feels particularly bored, zapping uselessly through the sports channels in the hopes a mildly interesting game is on.

A commentator is analyzing Eve Teschmacher’s defenses in the past few games - the woman plays as the goalkeeper of the German National Team and is expected to perform phenomenally this season for Bayern - when Lena quickly registers in, clicking  _yes_ when the app asks if she wants to synchronize it with her contacts to befriend more users.

Pondering slightly over which picture she’s going to use in her profile, Lena scrolls down on her gallery to choose a close up of her face from the Calvin Klein photoshoot. A giant billboard of the brand has been placed outside of Real’s training camp, visible even from inside of the pitch.

It’s one of the raunchiest picture in Lena’s opinion, with her in the middle as Sara Lance rests her hand softly on the black haired woman’s neck. Even if the photo is tasteful and honestly beautiful, it utterly distracts Lena on every opportunity, making a fuzzy feeling manifestate in her gut. It also doesn’t help that the billboard gives more fuel for Sam to call her a  _bottom_ on every chance she gets.

(Calvin Klein’s sales have never been higher, though, Jack says, and they’re already reaching out to negotiate a expansion on the women’s contract, claiming that the three of them could cause a big impact on the online fashion world. Based on the pictures Lena gets tagged constantly on Instagram, random users wildly conjuring up that the three of them must have some sort of affair going on, she can see exactly what they mean.)

In less than two minutes, lenakieran_luthor is born.

Lena can admit some of the filters in the app are undoubtedly useful, especially the flower crown and the yellow pastel light that makes your face look skinnier. She can’t comprehend, however, the utter existence of some other filters - she spends full five minutes trying to figure out what’s so fun about vomiting rainbows - and, with a frown, decides to delete the app altogether, tell Sam that she thought it was a complete waste of time and that the woman should spend her free time training her free kicks instead of browsing through unpurposeful apps.

A message pops in her notification bar.  _Kara Danvers, Lana Lang and 25 others started following you! Follow them back!_

She eyes Kara’s name curiously and decides to browse through the app a little more. Following back everyone who followed her, Lena discovers she can already see the pictures from her “friends” and absent mindedly clicks on  _See all._

Most of the snaps are from people on parties or gatherings, in environments with little to no lights and beer bottles raised high in the air.

Kara’s snaps are brightest ones, and Lena suppouses it’s thanks to the different time zone.

The woman’s camera is on frontal mode but filming her from a low angle that makes Lena get an eyeful of Kara running and smiling, laughing in joy for five seconds until it changes to what looks like a tennis field. Kara’s face is not visible but it’s possible to hear her laugh from behind the camera as she films a bearded man exaggeratedly trying to hit a tennis ball and epically missing it every time, clearly playing it for the camera.

The snap changes to the same man now absolutely hitting every ball sent his way by a throwing machine, angling his body to send the little object flying away as Kara cheer for him behind the camera. The filming changes again to a 3rd person recording her and the man playing against one another, aggressively stopping the ball from touching the floor until the man trips up on his own feet and falls in his back on the ground, missing the ball as it flies over his head.

Kara whoops happily, jumping off the ground and the sight of her in typical tennis player fashion - white top, headband, blue skirt - is enough to make Lena smile fondly. “Take that, Manu,” Kara shouts to the man, still laying down and laughing as he clutches his stomach. “So much for a professional player.”

The snap changes to a selfie of Kara and the man - Manu, apparently - wearing very similar clothes and with an air of seriousness. Lena almost can’t take her eyes away from the sharpness of Kara’s jaw until the caption captures her attention.  _the true it couple of tennis._

Kara’s snaps fade away and Lena’s left staring blankly at her screen, heart racing and mind buzzing, thinking about the implications of the word _couple_ and what Kara’s relationship with the man could be.

Her phone buzzes again and Lena opens the notification tab.  _Sam Arias just sent you a snap!_

It’s an awful picture of Sam laying down in the dark, hair mussed and the angle making it look like she has a double chin. Not only that, Sam is also pursing her lips and making and exaggerated funny face Lena knows are for her eyes only.

The caption reads  _wassup bOtToM???_

Lena closes the app, deciding she’s had enough of Snapchat for the day.

 

Lena agrees to meet up with Sam and Jack in a quaint little restaurant on the outskirts of Madrid. It’s her first free friday in months, the place has been getting good reviews and Lena feels like relaxing with her friends and drinking some wine.

She’s enveloped in a cocoon of warmness as soon as she steps into the place, feeling a delicious aroma of fried vegetables and fat fill her nostrils. The surroundings are cozy and welcoming, very informal and intimate, barely illuminated by some well-placed ceiling lights and burning candles on every table, shading the faces of the customers and making them only slightly visible, and Lena appreciates the opportunity to possibly pass by unnoticed.

Soft hispanic music plays on the background as waiters dressed all in white move around confidently, serving colored drinks and meat dishes in dark plates.

Lena finds her friends quickly, conversing animatedly in a table hidden in the corner. Jack, who wears a bright pink tie to match with his black suit draws more attention than Sam, in a button down shirt and pressed slacks.

“Jack picked the table for us,” Sam explains after Lena finishes greeting both of them with cheek kisses, promptly sitting back down on the high topped table.

Jack shrugs. “What can I say, I’m forever the cheesy man who likes to seat near the TV everywhere he goes,” he says, pointing to the television right above their head.

Glancing at it for the first time, Lena can’t help but laugh. “It doesn’t feel very unintentional,” she remarks as the TV begins transmitting the high-anticipated soccer match between the national teams of France and United States.

“Figured it’s a way to break the ice about the subject we’re all dying to discuss,” Jack says emphatically as a waiter arrives with wine glasses topped to the brim and thick menus.

Lena hums, taking a sip of her beverage. “My pseudo-existent love life concerns none of you.”

“Good thing we don’t care,” Sam ironizes. “Also, who’s talking about love here?”

Jack nods. “As far as we know, one night stands are still a thing.”

The three of them turn to look at the television as the commentator announces Kara’s presence. She stares straight ahead, watching the ball carefully and looking both very focused and extremely attractive in the tight-fitting blue french uniform.

“Wow, she’s so hot,” Sam mumbles, not taking her eyes of the game for long minutes as they sip on the wine.

“I mean, I don’t even like girls and I think she’s such a babe,” Jack says as the transmission shows many angles of a sliding tackle Kara’s just received. A more cautions observer like Lena can see the exact way her leg muscles stretch behind her shorts. “Can’t imagine how hard it must be for the two of you.”

 _Very hard_ , Lena almost says. What she does instead is swallow down the burn of non-required arousal and jealousy rising in her throat. “She really is a gorgeous woman,” Lena says, watching the TV carefully. “What a nasty hit.”

Her attention is diverted from Kara’s angry self quickly standing up to fight one of the players of the other team by Jack saying, “That’s why we don’t understand why you missed the chance to tap that.”

Lena scans the menu briefly, ordering a dish with slow cooked pork meat and caramelized carrots. “I just,” she starts, not looking her friends in the eye. “Wasn’t really sure about what I wanted recently.”

“And you’re sure now?” Sam asks, looking at Lena with the sort of disbelief she can’t get mad about.

Lena shrugs. “I don’t know,” she confesses. “I haven’t made up my mind about anything, really. All I can think about are the different scenarios that actually sleeping with her can conjure up.”

“Try not to be pessimistic about it, please,” Jack pleads, watching as Kara conducts a beautiful counter attack that almost results in France opening up the score.

“I can’t not be pessimistic,” Lena sighs. “I’m not good at this. Flirting, showing interest. I’d much rather be training my penalties than being in a relationship with someone. I can’t even remember the last time I had one, really.”

“Excuse me,” Sam clears her throat, faking insult. “I think I had a little participation on this last relationship of yours.”

“Yes, and you know how I was. A complete workaholic.”

The waiter arrives with their dishes and Lena is momentarily distracted by the game again. The clock shows it’s the very last minutes of the first half and France is attacking, Kara Danvers in the center of it like the sun exercising its gravitational pull on the planets - the other players and even the ball drift to her, always finding the star, the true playmaker.

Just as she’s about to receive a smartly passed ball that would leave her alone in the penalty area, a player Lena recognizes as Leslie Willis - that once played very well for Atletico de Madrid but nowadays has been reduced to the type of defenser whose only job is to rile up the attacker - pushes her into the ground violently, in a move that’d be a clear penalty if the official hadn’t chosen to blow the whistle and put an end to the first half right there.

The camera shows when Kara leaves the pitch with an irritated look on her face, lifting up her jersey to wipe off the sweat on her neck, and that whole look is doing more for Lena right now than anything else could possibly do.

She and her friends eat in silence for a few moments, stuffing their faces with slices of meat that drip with juice. She’s sure Sam is even eating alligator beef but before she can ask Jack chooses to speak, mouth full and everything. “What are you worried about? You barely know this girl anyway.”

Lena swallows a golden piece of carrot and nods. “Yes, but being cautious is never too much,” she responds. “What I mean is if it’s worth it to actually put myself out there only for things not to work out like I know they won’t.”

“You’re over analyzing things,” Sam says. “It’s simpler than that.”

“Is it?” she replies. “You of all people know how much I prioritize my job over everything. What happens if I let this thing get into my head and distract me from it?”

Jack snorts. “Lena, I fucking hate you,” he mumbles around a biteful of food. “Nobody’s telling you to marry this girl, stop acting like we’re giving you an ultimatum.”

“Don’t do it if you don’t wanna,” Sam remarks just as the TV shows both sets of players coming back from half time. “We just think it’d help you loosen up a little.”

“God knows I’m relaxed and all loose, if you know what I mean,” Jack says, sharing a laugh with Sam as they both clink their glasses.

Lena grimaces. “God, don’t be nasty,” she says. “You two are the worst.”

Sam smiles. “And somehow the best at the same time.”

The topic changes after that. Jack starts gushing about his wonderful weekend in Bangkok and how perfect of a husband Pete is. Later, Sam explains to them very carefully the details of a non-governmental organization she’s been funding recently, whose goal is to bring clear water and food to children in emergency situations in Latin America.

Their attention drifts back to the game when the referee’s whistle blows loudly, and the camera pans to Kara’s face when he shows her a red card, sending her out of the field. The blonde woman storms angrily into the changing room sending a dirty look to USA’s subs bench. The transmission starts showing the move again, from the beginning.

Kara had captured the ball in the middle of an US attack, running all by herself from one half of the field to the other. She was being chased closely by two defenders, one of those Leslie Willies who, right when Kara was angling the ball to kick it, expertly groped her shirt and pushed her down in the middle of the area. The referee quickly defined that as a penalty and booked Leslie with an yellow card.

The woman approached Kara then and extended a hand to help lift her up only to retract it immediately after and make Kara fall on her back again.

Hot blooded at being fouled for the second time, Kara pushed herself up and confronted Leslie, pushing her sternum and making the woman fall. The two of them were quickly separated by some french players but Kara received the red card anyway.

Almost on cue, the transmission cuts to the recognizable face of Cat Grant, once a big Manchester City star and the current coach of the United States team. The woman remains calm and collected, sending an almost bored look to the field that Lena can clearly see through, observing as the woman’s eyes move around the field rapidly, not blinking. Her face has an almost glorious glint, and Lena recalls the conversation she had with Kara regarding the woman. All of this aggression directed to France’s star player almost feels like a power play to demonstrate her superiority over Kara.

Taking into account the look Kara sent in Cat’s direction as she stormed off the field, Lena thinks that even if Cat’s winning right now, Kara’s not going to accept this score so easily.

“Leslie Willis is such a bitch,” Sam mutters and Lena can agree wholeheartedly with the feeling.

Some time later, when they’ve paid the bill and are waiting in the parking lot for their uber, Jack broaches the subject again.

“Kara Danvers is so into you, though,” he says, lighting up a cigarette. “I’m serious. The way she was looking at you on those pictures, wow.”

Fluttering erupts in Lena’s heart when she remembers that was the way Kara looked at her the whole evening: earnest and open, seeming like she’s dare the three musketeers to a sword fight to defend her.

Sam presses close to her. “And if you’re worried about falling into something serious or if you just wanna test the waters,” she trails down. “Go for it. Even for only one night.”

“Even just to get it out of your system,” Jack finishes as their driver arrives, and Lena’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or her imagination but her blood hums.

Lena’s apartment is the farest away and she takes advantage of Jack and Sam’s absence to send Kara a brief text.  _Hope you’re alright. Leslie Willis has no morals._

Kara texts back immediately, as if she was waiting for Lena’s message.  _had a rough day but i’m alright now!!! thanks for caring. p.s. what’s a superstar like u doing watching a match between to subpar teams?_

Biting her lip and deciding to take the risk, Lena writes back  _No team is subpar when you’re in it._

The three little dots pop up two times before stopping altogether. When Lena thinks Kara’s not going to answer anything back and she has just ventured herself for nothing a dark picture shows up. She can’t see much besides two things: Kara’s legs supporting a computer open on Season 5 of How I Met Your mother and a tub of strawberry ice cream.  _gotta chill somehow_ the caption reads.

 _Season 7 is better_ Lena sends back and receives a video of a small red dragon saying she has no honor, which must be a pop culture reference she doesn’t quite understand.

Only one kind of thought permeates Lena’s mind for the rest of the ride, as well on the elevator lift and after she’s stripped down and is laying on the bed, getting ready for a night full of dreams with a certain blonde woman.

_Get it out of my system, huh?_

 

Lena receives a snap from Lex in a stuffy afternoon in Madrid. She, alongside some of her teammates from Real, is laying down on the freshly cut wet grass, exhausted after Coach Wayne made them train for three consecutive hours. They watch lazily as Sam and their fullback Maria Hill alternate as the goalie so the other can take a penalty shot.

Jess, their actual goalkeeper, is laying on her back with her shirt off, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram.

Their midfielder Lana Lang comes from the dressing room holding Lena’s phone, throwing it on her legs when she’s close enough. With a playful tease, she says, “Your lover’s been trying to reach you. Your phone kept buzzing.”

On Lena’s left, Karolina Dean, the youngest substitute they have and a damn decent midfielder, pokes her in the ribs. “Is it Danvers? Spill, cap.”

Lena eyes her with humor. “Go back to the under-17 category, child,” she says, patting Karolina on the head. “Also, stop calling me captain or Sam will be jealous.”

“No, I won’t,” the woman in question says, throwing herself on Lena’s slap, sweaty and all. “Now, spill it,  _cap_.”

Lena rolls her eyes as the rest of the women laugh, choosing to ignore them in order to check her phone. A notification shows up when she opens it. _Lex Luthor just sent you a snap!_

It’s a selfie of him on what appears to be a beach, looking very sunburnt but rather happy. Smiling, with sunglasses on the top of his head and no shirt, he holds an orange-colored alcoholic drink, and for a second Lena wonders if those sunglasses will leave a tanned mark on his bald head and what kind of sunscreen is the most adequate for the situation before his caption catches her eye.

It simply reads  _Saw the pictures, Kara Danvers is a catch! Be back soon and you can tell me all about it. Use protection, I’m too young to be an uncle. Love ya._

(And if later, when she has ignored Lex’s message and headed to her message app, a message from Kara Danvers asking Lena about some movie indications appears on her queue, none of her teammates need to know.)

 

On saturday morning, right after playing a game against Chelsea that basically guaranteed Real’s place on the next phase of the Champions League, Lena receives a text from her colleague and old coach from Roma, James Olsen.

It’s quick worded and it seems like a chain text sent to many people. The message invites her to a get-together to celebrate James and his husband’s new acquisition: a 4 bedroom house on one of the most expensive areas of Barcelona. After a brief description of the address, the text finishes by apologizing for being such a short notice invite, and assures they’ll “totally comprehend if you can’t go”.

Lena, eating a bowl of mangoes and a glass of milk from breakfast, quickly considers the invite. She has nothing but fond memories of James. Right after she was bought by United, the team lent her to Roma, Italy’s fast rising team, for 2 years in the hopes she’d gain experience. At the age of 17, she’d only played for fun in local teams and at university matches and, in retrospect, she can understand exactly why United didn’t give her a chance right away: she was inexperienced but impatient to show her worth, and that eagerness could come back to bite her in the ass.

In any way, she was received with open arms in Roma, as they were desperate to prove their worth on Serie A. Their soon acquired coach James Olsen was one of the people who treated Lena the best, like her own person instead of the heir of the Luthor family whose mother used her connections to make one of England’s top teams hire her fresh off the boat daughter. James carried himself with utter calmness even when the team was losing, reaching out during half-time to cheer them up and softly but assertively show them tactics to turn the game around, and that strategy and aura shaped the playing way Lena developed in the team.

James saw Lena working hard during practice and was the one to give her a proper chance, trusting she’d bring freshness to a game against Milan they’d most certainly lose. Guided by his solid consistency, Lena was able to shine for the very first time, giving wonderful passes that let her teammates facing the goal and even almost scoring herself. They still lost the game, but it was that match that guaranteed Lena’s place on the starting line-up of the team. They came back stronger and more inspired the following year, and managed to win Serie A mostly thanks to James good work.

James’ unbreakable belief regarding Lena was what made her shine in the italian league and ultimately made Manchester United bring her back and present her as their new star, starting Lena’s soccer career for real and making her become a household name in european soccer.

Lena takes her dishes to the sink and sends James a quick message back. Then, she opens her chat with Sam, sending her a  _Have any plans for tonight?_

That’s how Lena and Sam find themselves standing outside of an enormous mansion later that night, Lena dressed in tight wine-colored skirt and a black blouse while Sam sports a cat-stamped button down and black jeans that seem glued to her skin.

Loud music radiates from the house as Lena and Sam are welcomed by a tall man who acts almost like a bouncer, checking people’s names in a clipboard before letting them go in.

Pastel-coloured lights and pop music she can’t recognize fill Lena’s senses as she enters the living room. A dozen other sportists and soccer players mingle in the open space, and Lena only manages to catch a glimpse of Bayern’s left winger Carol Danvers and Barcelona’s star striker Lucy Lane downing a round of shots before someone shouts her name in the crowd.

James Olsen’s arms engulf her, and one thing Lena didn’t quite remembered was how much taller he was than everyone else. “I’m so glad you came,” he says, looking her in the eye and holding both of her hands. “Sorry about the last minute text, we were so busy.”

“It’s no worry at all,” Lena says. Smiling, she points to Sam. “This is my teammate Sam Arias. Sam, James used to coach me when I played for Roma.”

They shake hands amicably and James says, “Nah, this one here basically coached herself.” He quickly looks around and snatches a shorter, almond haired man from a conversation. “This is my husband, Winn,” he tells them while the man catches his breath.

Winn widens his eyes, rapidly staring at her and Sam with enthusiasm. “Oh my God it’s so nice to meet you both,” he gushes, shaking their hands frenetically. Lena notices amusedly that his entire self is shaking before the man turns to James and slaps his chest. “You traitor! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me they were coming.”

James raises his hands as a sign of redemption. “I wasn't sure,” he explains, pointing to Winn with humor. “He’s a big Real Madrid supporter.”

“Always nice to meet a fan,” Sam grins.

Winn shakes his head. “I’m more than a fan, really,” he says, and Lena notices James closing his eyes, probably anticipating whatever his husband’s next words are. “I was on the stand at every Champions final Real has been in the past 14 years - Lena, you played wonderfully last year by the way, the way you scored that goal with your ankle was simply the most extraordinary thing that has ever happened in the competition -”

“Alright, that’s enough,” James interrupts, clutching his husband’s shoulder. He look at her and Sam earnestly. “Guys, mingle around, have a drink, eat something. Please have fun, alright?”

He leaves, dragging Winn away, who only manages to send them an awkward wave before he’s mixed through the crowd again.

Sam looks for her eye, crearly finding the situation as amusing as Lena. “I love your fanboys,” she says, eyes crinkling.

Lena can’t help but laugh. “Shut up and let’s find a drink.”

 

Some time later, Lena’s sitting alone in a little bar on the corner of the living room, Sam having left to greet her old friend Trish Walker, who grew up with her on Real’s youth categories and now is the esteemed goalkeeper from Paris Saint-Germain.

She adverts her eyes when Sam greets Trish’s girlfriend, the Monaco midfielder Jessica Jones, opting to observe other people and pinpoint those she knows, finishing her first glass of whiskey rather quickly.

Lena never had many friends in the soccer world apart from teammates. She knows it’s not only because she’s a quiet and reserved person, but also because she can make herself look very intimidating, a fact that is certainly backed up by the arrogant superstar persona the media seems fond of making her look like.

Truth is, the world wasn’t ready for a player like her, who was extremely good and knew it, so they tried to sabotage her in many ways, the most recent one from a portuguese newspaper stating she said she’d rather break both legs than admit anyone was above her.

Her reactions were all carefully analysed and criticised if Lena showed the barest hint of confidence. After some time, she started playing it up exaggeratedly for the media, making everything she did into something she could brag about, and not giving a single fuck about what anyone else thought of her.

(The last couple of years, the media had started fueling a competition between Lena and Lucy Lane. Lena was in her second year in Real Madrid, on a high after winning Champions League, and Lucy was soon gearing up to be the next big thing on Barcelona, especially after Selina Kyle’s retirement was approaching.

It worked quite perfectly as they both had a backstory that seemly paralleled the other: a) both came from families of reputed sportists - Lucy’s father was a basketball superstar in the 80s and her sister Lois was a striker for Atletico de Madrid, b) both started on english teams, c) both played on the biggest rivalry of Europe - Real Madrid vs. Barcelona: the El Clasico showdown.

The biggest difference between them, and the thing Lena assumed made most people gravitate towards the egyptian superstar even though they admitted Lena played better, was the fact that Lucy was so very  _humble_.

Lower her head, don’t brag, don’t gloat, always thank God, your family and the ones who came before you kind of humble.

The exact kind that Lena, having grown up in the family she did and playing as well as she did while simultaneously not being giving enough credit for it, simply couldn’t be.)

Musing about her current lack of humbleness while absentmindedly watching Tottenham’s fullback Pamela Isley perform a ridiculous redemption of Shania Twain’s Man I Feel Like a Woman, Lena almost doesn’t notice a familiar body approaching her back to whisper in her ear.

“Fancy seeing you here, Ms. Luthor,” the voice says, and Lena turns around abruptly to meet Kara Danver’s blindly clear blue eyes.

Lena takes a moment to look Kara up and down. She’s in all dark: navy blue blouse with black jeans coupled by an army jacket that hugs Kara’s upper body snuggly, making the blonde’s strong arms and shoulders more defined than Lena thought it was possible. Kara’s makeup is impossibly light and Lena, standing almost face to face with her, can only gulp down the quell of attraction she feels for this woman.

Lena’s brain almost shortcuts when she notices that attached to the blonde’s jacket is a pin that says TOP in rainbow colored letters.

“Kara, hi,” she stutters, body warming up from head to toe as Kara shows a dimpled smile and leans down to press a kiss on her cheek.

“Hello,” Kara repeats goofly, keeping her hand attached to Lena’s hip. She feels like the skin there might burn. “Didn’t know you knew James and Winn.”

“James used to be my coach in Roma,” she explains, heart beating fast as Kara focuses all her attention on her. “Just met Winn, actually.”

Kara laughs, biting her lip, and Lena’s eyes darken, following the movement. “He must’ve freaked out when he saw you, I bet.”

Lena chuckles softly. “You could say he did, yes.”

Only then Kara seems to remember the drink she’s holding, extending it to Lena’s hand. “Malt scotch, right?”

Lena eyes her curiously, accepting the glass and taking a sip, humming as the alcohol floods her tongue. Kara seems to tune into that sound. “Exactly. How did you know?”

Kara shrugs. “Saw you ordering it on the UEFA event,” she explains. “I don’t tend to forget things regarding someone I’m interested in.”

 _Fuck_ , Lena thinks, feeling warm liquid pool low on her stomach. No other woman has had this effect on her, and Lena’s starting to think Kara Danvers most withhold some sort of spell that makes women putty in her hands. Lena needs to figure out its antidote soon, otherwise she won’t be able to control herself anymore.

Acting like she hasn’t just rocked Lena’s world completely, Kara sits down on the spot previously occupied by Sam, and Lena tries to recompose herself by asking, “What about you? How do you know them?”

Kara, sitting in a way Lena can see her profile, takes a long gulp of a beer she just ordered, and from the angle Lena can see exactly the way her throat bobs with the movement, almost like she’s showing herself off.

“Me and Alex grew up with Winn on Canada,” she answers, nodding to the couch where Alex Danvers is talking to Winn and Maggie Sawyer. “He got a scholarship in Paris about the same time we started playing in Europe, met James in college and the rest is history.”

“A traditional meet-cute.”

Kara nods and a heartbeat passes. “I’m actually here with my cousin Manu tonight,” she continues, pointing to a corner where the man Lena remembers from the snapchat video is dancing with a brown haired woman. “He’s been bugging me to introduce him to Imra for weeks now, he’s had the biggest crush on her since forever.”

“Manu? Is he german?” Lena asks.

Kara laugh, turning to face her and resting a hand on Lena’s thigh, dangerously close to a place she feels it’s glowing. “His name’s actually Mike but I mispronounced it when we met and it stuck between us.”

Lena furrows her brows. “When you met? I thought you were cousins.”

“Oh yeah, but I only met him when I was about ten,” Kara explains, avoiding her eyes. “My little pre teen brain somehow heard Manu when he said Michael.”

Kara’s expression suddenly shifts to a more serious one, and she squeezes Lena’s leg. Somehow, Lena already knows what she’s going to say, and really doesn’t want to talk about it right now. “Listen, I’ve been dying to talk about those pictures.”

However, Lena’s guardian angel is seemly strong, and is presenting themselves in the distinct form of Sam Arias. “Look if it isn’t Kara Danvers,” Sam exclaims, eye the two of them pressed closer with mirth dancing in her eyes.

Kara quickly subtracts her hand from Lena’s thigh, and extends it to Sam. “Sam Arias, wow, hello, it’s so nice to meet you.”

Sam bares her teeth. “I’d say the same but this one,” she indicates Lena, “has told me so much about you I feel like I already met you.”

So much for a guardian angel.

“Yes, Sam is a liar,” Lena says, shooting daggers with her eyes.

Kara brightly looks between them, and Sam presses closer to the blonde woman, whispering conspiratorially, “Between you and me, she’s what you could call a  _superfan_.”

Lena feels like murdering Sam, not believing she chose this moment to tease her.

Kara, on the other hands, looks like she’s having the time of her life, and turns to ask Sam indiscreetly, “Really? What other things can you tell me about Lena here? I’ve been dying to know everything about her.”

Sam looks like she just found the pirate’s golden treasure. “Oh, yeah, I can tell you anything you wanna know. There was this one time, actually, we were in boarding school and one of those nuns we used to hate actually caught Lena smoking pot -”

“You’re not going to tell that story,” Lena interrupts Sam hastily, and the woman in front of her honest to god pouts.

Kara gets up, chuckling brightly at both of them. “I’ll love to hear that story some other time,” she says. “But, um, if you excuse, I gotta go hunt some non-shrimpy canapes.”

“Allergic?” Lena asks, desperate to change the subject.

Kara shakes her head. “Jewish. Catch up with you later,” she says with a wink.

Lena watches Kara’s retreating form, amazed by the way her blonde hair cascates down her back. She’s rudely taken out of her reverie by Sam snickering on her side.

Lena does the only mature thing she can think of. She pinches Sam’s forearm hard. “Ow,” she cries out

“What was that about?” she inquiries.

Sam shrugs, frowning as she rubs the sore spot. “If you’re not gonna do anything about that woman that’s clearly into you, somebody’s gotta.”

Rolling her eyes, Lena drinks the rest of her scotch in one gulp, thinking what kind of person she must have been in other lives to deserve this dumbass as her angel.

 

Hours later, Lena has lost counts of how many tumblers of whiskey she already had, and she can feel the pleasant buzzing on her body indicating she’s way past wasted.

While Lena was chatting with Angie Martinelli, the midfielder of Paris Saint-Germain who was absent during the Ireland vs. Italy match, Sam disappeared again, under the excuse of finding the bathroom. A few minutes later, Lena found her engrossed in deep conversation with Alex Danvers and Maggie Sawyer, pressed between the two women while the brazilian stroked her hair.

Deciding not to interrupt whatever that was, Lena grabbed a glass of water and headed to an area outside of the house, hoping the fresh air can make her more alert.

Leaning on a wall, Lena carefully observes the stars as she sips the water. She used to do that a lot as a child, lay down on the garden grass of the Luthor manor and simply watch the sky, try to name as many stars as she could and make a wish to the 13th one on the left, just like her father taught her.

Impulsively, she starts counting the stars, finding number 13 easily - a small little thing that doesn’t shine near as brightly as her sisters. Lena supposes it’s fitting.

As soon as she wishes upon the start, eyes closed as if blowing a birthday candle, she hears a door open and shut behind her.

“Penny for your thoughts?” the familiar voice of Kara Danvers asks quietly, holding a plate of food on her hands.

Lena notices the woman’s presence is starting to become almost a constant everywhere she goes.

Lena bites her bottom lip. “I was thinking about my father,” she answers, surprising even herself with the honesty. Kara has a spell, she swears.

Kara analizes her face, eyes shadowed under the moonlight. “Do you miss him?” she asks gently, and to Lena it feels like a loaded question.

Does she? The man who waited until her mother died to finally look for his estranged daughter, who had the guts to bring her into his house, into his new family? Does she miss her father, who read american history books to her in his office, who bought her pints of ice cream when Lillian wasn’t around? Who seemed to treat her well even under the circumstances, but who’d turn his eye everytime Lillian reprimanded her unfairly, who was so drunk all of the time she doesn’t remember ever having an actual conversation with him?

Her relationships with all  _three_ of her parents are complicated, so she opts to just shrug. “Certainly not enough as I could,” she says, leaning her head to the side to look Kara in the eye.

On the absence of light, her features stand out even more, wild strands of curl at her cheekbones, the probable result of running her hands through it one too many times.

Her cheeks look flushed and the close proximity between them reveals to Lena that the blonde woman radiates many types of warmness, enough to make Lena hot from head to toe in more ways than one.

Looking down, Lena realizes Kara did find the canapes she was looking for and is slowly munching on them. “I didn’t know you were jewish,” she tells the woman.

Kara frowns. “Really?” she asks, swallowing quickly. “I thought that was one of the most well-known facts about me.”

Lena shakes her head. “Cross my heart.”

“You’ve watched me playing, right?” Lena nods, because,  _duh._ That was her favorite past time during last summer. “Ok, so, you know when I raise my pinky finger up clutching my chest? That’s a jewish thing.”

Realization dawns on Lena. “Oh. I never really did quite understand that.”

Kara hums. “And this is the necklace I’m holding behind my jersey. “ She reaches behind her shirt to show the ornament to Lena. The Star of David stares at her, its blue colors making Kara’s eyes stand out even more. “It’s not only meaningful to me but much more than that. Before we started playing for real Alex even wanted us to become israeli citizens and play for the country.”

“Last time they had a proper chance was when Diana Prince still played there.”

“Exactly,” Kara agrees, hiding the necklace again. “But France will always hold the number one spot in my heart and some, um, political things made Alex not want to represent Israel anymore.

"I mean,” Kara retracts, widening her eyes. “When we were teens it was all about the jewish diaspora. Not anymore these days though, so that thought died kinda quickly.”

“So you both stuck with your own countries in the end,” Lena completes.

“Yeah,” Kara says, resting the empty plastic plate on the ground. “Y’know, nobody was expecting you to become an irish citizen.”

Lena grins cheekly. “That was the point.”

Kara chuckles. When Lena turns to look at her, all air suddenly leaves her lungs as soon as she realizes Kara’s been staring pointedly at her lips.

The night air then quickly warms up, and Lena realises that the two of them like this, huddled up together and whispering secrets into the dark while Fleetwood Mac plays somewhere in the background, might be very dangerous to her heart.

“Seriously, though,” Kara presses. “Why did you do it?”

The magic surrounding the two of them is enough to make Lena want to reveal all of her secrets to the blonde woman.

She finds nothing else to say, so she tells the truth. “My mother was born there.”

Kara frowns. “Lillian?”

Lena shakes her head. “No.”

A heartbeat passes in which it seems like Kara is pondering about the implications of what she said. “I was adopted, too,” she confesses in a hushed tone, almost like she’s whispering directly into Lena’s ear. “All it took was one drunk driver to turn me and my cousin Kal into orphans.”

The seriousness of the moment fades when Lena looks at her with her brows pulled down. “Wait, Kal El is your cousin?”

Kara lifts her head. “Yeah, how did you - Oh, wait,” she huffs out. “Fuck, Lex Luthor’s your brother.”

In the past 7 years, no rivalry has been bigger in the basketball world than the Luthor vs. Kent feud. Sworn to death enemies, her brother and Kal first started as colleagues on the same team before Kara’s cousin dissed Lex, calling him a traitor after he moved to their rival just because they payed better.

Lena should’ve guessed, really. Kara carries herself with the same quiet confidence as her cousin, a posture that once made impossible for Lena to dislike Kal, even as Lex tried hard to show her his “evil deeds.”

“Your cousin must be thrilled right now,” Lena says with a small laugh, trying hard not to focus on the way Kara’s hair falls on her shoulders. “With Lex on exile he is free to win all the awards this season.”

Kara scoffs. “First of all, he’s gonna win because he deserves it,” she says indignantly, and the knowledge that she managed to rile Kara up makes butterflies erupt in Lena’s stomach. “Second of all, I don’t think he ever really disliked your brother, to be honest.”

Lena huffs. “Yes, you say that.”

Kara sends a smile her way and it’s hard to pay attention to anything else. “The world’s so small, wow,” she says. “All I can think about right now is what if we had met in a different scenario, through them.”

Lena sighs, biting her lip. She doesn’t need to imagine. Were they to meet in different circumstances, without the weight of Europe’s top leagues on their backs, hypothetical Lena would have already given in to all the desires this Lena can’t quite relent to just yet.

She clears her throat, and tries not to envision anything. “So, you were adopted?”

Kara blinks. “Oh, yeah,” she answers. “I was 10 when the Danvers adopted me and their friends adopted Kal soon after. That’s what I meant when I said I  _met_ Manu. He’s actually Alex’s cousin.”

“And there are only sportists on your family?”

“No, just the new generation, you could call them that,” she answers, chuckling. “Alex and I playing soccer, Kal playing basketball, Manu’s starting to become someone in the tennis field.” She looks down, eyes glossing over. “But I suppose - I mean, my mother, my birth mother, she, um, she played a few seasons as a goalie for PSG.”

Lena furrows her brows, mind working incessantly. “Wait, your mom is Alura Zor?”

“Yep,” Kara confirms, pursing her lips.

“Wow, Kara, I would never have guessed.”

“It was a long time ago,” Kara says. “She was the one who actually gave the Star of David necklace. It means a lot to me.”

Their conversation that first night in Paris echoes in Lena’s mind, and she finally understands the whole parent’s approval Kara needed to start a soccer career.

Kara backs away from the wall suddenly, and for a second Lena thinks Kara’s going to push her up against the wall before the blonde extends her a hand, saying, “Come here.”

Lena takes Kara’s soft hand, allowing the woman to lead her to the other side of the garden, where a clean pool sits unused thanks to unfinished concrete floor around it.

She’s about to ask Kara what they’re doing there but doesn’t quite get the chance to because as soon as she turns around to face the woman, Lena realises Kara’s taking her clothes off.

Lena’s eyes zero on the way the necklace dips in the valley between Kara’s breasts, fully supported by a red lace bra, and Lena doesn’t quite knows judaism very well but she’s sure her thoughts must count as many different kinds of sinning.

It’s not the first time she’s seen Kara semi-naked - the Calvin Klein photoshoot still burns brightly in her mind - but everything about this moment feels different, with the way they were pressed closed together earlier and the fact that half the world thinks they’re sleeping together when that’s the one thing Lena wishes she was doing right now.

Kara must notice her stare, because she lifts her face up, grinning cheekly as she discards her jeans, pink tongue poking out of her lips.

“Come on,” she repeats, and next thing Lena knows Kara has dived into the pool.

The soft spell she radiates almost threatens to drown Lena down when Kara comes up for air, body wet like a siren. This time, however, the spell isn’t strong enough to make Lena dive.

“I don’t think you should do that,” Lena rushes, looking around to make sure no one’s watching.

Kara, for one, looks delighted to be in the water, splashing the water around like a child. “Don’t worry,” she says, smiling up at Lena. “James and Winn won’t mind. You can come in too.”

Lena almost splutters. “You want me to go in there?”

Kara shrugs. “I mean, I’d love to,” she says so earnestly it almost hurts. “But if you don’t feel comfortable you can sit on the floor while we talk, or you leave if you want, it’s alright.”

Lena bites her bottom lip, assessing the situation. What was it that her friends kept insisting she did? Loosen up? She figures she could start doing that right there, entering this enclosed pool while Kara Danvers waits for her, semi-naked and all wet.

Baby steps, she guesses.

Lena starts taking off her shirt first, mindful of Kara watching her with rapid attention, sexy smile still in place. Ditching out her skirt and shoes, Lena thanks the gods she chose a matching pair of underwear today, and one she even thinks highlights her curves.

Not wanting to think twice lest she gives up, Lena jumps into the pool, relenting the few seconds of numbness the water provides her. Her body floats, drifting away to anywhere the water wants to take her, and even if she’s literally holding her breath, it almost feels like she’ll be able to properly breathe from this point on.

The weight on top of her chest feels like it’s been suddenly lifted off and Lena only belongs right there, only on this moment, worries pushed aside for another hour.

That is, until she crawls back to surface and shivers hard, be it from the weather or Kara’s burning gaze on her every move. “Fuck, it’s so cold,” she says, jumping a little to warm up.

Kara gives her a smug look. “Y’know,” she says, grinning. “Didn’t think you’d actually do it. I knew you were a wild girl at heart and not as stuck up as people make you seem.”

Lena shakes her head. “Don’t fool yourself. I’m very stuck up.”

Kara laughs, a throaty type of vibration that sounds far too intimate for Lena. “Nah,” she says. “If you were stuck up you wouldn't let me do this.”

Lena doesn’t have a chance to react because Kara immediately splashes water all over her face, surprising her enough that she almosts loses her balance.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Lena says darkly, mostly for teasing since she’s already covered in water anyway.

“But I did,” Kara says, popping out the consonants.

“Well, now you’re going to pay for this,” Lena threatens, and then it’s her turn to almost drown Kara in water, splashing her right on the face as the woman laughs.

Kara puts up a fight, though, and in a few seconds the situation has turned into a splashing war. They yell and shriek so loudly Lena’s sure someone is going to come check on them, but thankfully nobody does. The war continues until Kara, very courageously, swims through Lena’s splashing waves and stops her by grabbing her wrists.

Lena notices hotly that they’re almost the same height and Kara’s so close that if she wanted to press her lips to the blonde’s all she’d need to do is lean forward a little bit. Kara brings one of Lena’s wrists to her mouth, holding her gaze while she presses her lips to it.

It takes everything in Lena not to shiver, but arousal pools low on her gut, certainly wetting her panties.

Kara continues standing next to her, switching her gaze back and forth between Lena’s eyes and mouth.

The blonde clears her throat, stepping away just a little, and Lena immediately misses her warmth. “We really need to talk about those pictures,” she murmurs; they’re still so close.

“What about them?” Lena asks, ignoring everything else in the world that isn’t inside this pool.

“I just wanna make sure you’re comfortable. Y’know, with all the rumors and everything.”

“Don’t worry,” Lena answers softly, sensing that’s a real concern of the blonde. “Being linked to you is not at all bad.”

Kara smiles softly and Lena’s attention drifts to a series of tattoos gracing her chest and arms, that Lena had noticed before during the Calvin Klein photoshoot but not quite paid attention. Right now, with the drawings illuminated by the soft moonlight, Kara looks like a human canvas; a living work of art.

“Come here,” Lena asks, beckoning Kara with a finger. When the blonde’s so close she is practically backing her up into a corner, Lena traces carefully crafted flowers on Kara’s biced, feeling shivers erupt in her skin. “What do these mean?”

“These flowers were my mother’s favorites. Columbines. They’re blue to represent France.” She points to a lion on her other bicep, colored with tones of red and orange. “The lion, it’s, well,” she continues, rather sheepish. “I was always a big Harry Potter fan, and a total Gryffindor.”

“I always considered myself a Slytherin,” Lena says, which feels like the right thing to add because Kara’s eyes immediately shine.

“You’re more of a Ravenclaw, actually.”

Kara points to little footsteps scattered across her ribs. “This one’s also for Harry Potter. You know, Marauder’s Map and all.” She indicates to the number 60 in roman numerals that rests on her collarbone. “That’s the sum of my parents age when they passed. Mom was 29 and dad was 31.” She points to her right forearm, where the cover of Pink Floyd’s  _The Dark Side of the Moon_ rests. “My favorite album of all time.”

“And this,” Kara grabs Lena’s finger to trace the tattoo on the underside of her breast that says  _these violent delights have violent ends_. “Is a Shakespeare quote. Reminds me that pain comes whether you want it or not, so you should take every opportunity to be happy.”

Lena feels her heart skip a beat. The cold hard wall of the pool touches her back when she realises she’s deliciously trapped, pressed down by Kara’s ever warm body even in the cold water.

“You have some sort of spell, you know,” she mumbles, softly tracing Kara’s stomach with a finger, watching it ripple.

“Is that so?” the blonde asks, voice so low and dark making her dizzier than the alcohol.

“Yes,” Lena answers, lifting up her eyes to look at Kara’s, feeling satisfied when she finds there the same arousal she senses rippling through her body. “It just makes me want to be near you all the time.”

They’re reaching a point of no return, and Lena couldn’t give a fuck about anything else anymore.

“Don’t hold back,” Kara whispers and Lena fights to hold back a moan when Kara’s lips touch her neck for the first time.

A pang of arousal shoots straight to Lena’s groin and she shivers, holding Kara close to her by a firm grip on the nape of her neck, tilting her head to allow the blonde more access.

Kara has no qualms about holding anything back, because as soon as their bodies collide together, she releases a groan. “You feel so good,” she moans, grinding their hips together while she marks Lena’s collarbone with her tongue.

Lena feels like she’s going to explode if Kara dares to stop. The woman’s hands move boldly from her hips to the sides of her breasts, squeezing the skin there and it feels so good Lena jerks her hips forward, deliciously colliding with Kara’s once again.

“Fuck, Lena,” the blonde says, nipping at her ear, her fingers now hovering dangerously close to Lena’s underwear when a loud yell causes the two of them to spring apart.

It’s Winn, watching them necking on his pool, looking absolutely mortified for interrupting them. “Oh my god I’m so sorry you guys,“ he stutters. “I’m so sorry it’s just that Alex just left and she asked me to tell Kara but I couldn’t find you anywhere -”

“It’s alright, Winn,” Lena interrupts, preventing him to look more embarrassed.

“We were just - hot,” Kara says, closing her eyes firmly, realising that wasn’t the best choice of words.

Winn widens his eyes, know exactly what kind of  _hot_ they were. “You know what, I’m just gonna go inside and fetch you some towels while you guys,” he waves his hands in front of himself, “recompose yourselfs, yeah? I’ll do that. Be back in a minute.”

Lena quickly jumps out of the pool, mortification dawning on her as soon as she realizes she almost had sex with Kara Danvers on a pool at her old coach’s house.

Even better, a man she doesn’t know and can trust has got an eyeful of their make out session, and literally could destroy both of their careers if he just woke up on a bad day.

That’s exactly what happens when Lena lets loose, lives a little, and it’s exactly why she prefers to live in drought, not having relationships with anybody, focusing on her damn job and not on a woman she barely knows.

She dries herself quickly when Winn brings back the towels, not sparing a second glance at Kara. Dressing herself rapidly whilst calling an Uber, she practically bolts out of the pool area, going into the living room to collect Sam so they can get the hell out of there.

She doesn’t find her friend and is informed she already left with Maggie Sawyer and Alex Danvers.  _Great_ , she thinks.  _On the verge of having a mental breakdown over a pretty girl that could destroy me and abandoned by my best friend._

She decides to wait for the Uber outside, trying with effort not to think about how Kara felt against her, and how her voice cracked when she moaned Lena’s name.

She was a fool for getting into this. And it’s her own fault, that’s the worst. What was she thinking, getting into the pool with Kara as if they the tension between them couldn’t be cut with a knife, as if they were only going to splash water into each other’s face and that’d be it.

She was falling in this temptation quickly and dangerously, and what Lena needed to do was swim back to the shore, nevermind what Jack and Sam thought.

It’s only much later, when Lena’s laying down on her bed, panting and naked after she took matters into her own hands, that she realizes they didn’t kiss on the lips.

 _El Derbi Madrileño_ between Real and Atletico arrives soon later, not giving Lena time to dwell on anything that isn’t soccer and soccer only.

A different kind of buzz settles in the air of the Vicente Calderon stadium, and for the first time in forever Lena actually feels nervous about a game, walking back and forth on the changing room and wrinkling a plastic water bottle noisily.

Standing next to her and kicking a ball against the wall, Sam huffs. “Will you stop that?” she asks. “You’re actually making me anxious.”

“Sorry,” Lena apologizes, sitting down on a bench to calm herself. On the other side of the room, Karolina Dean is snapping Maria Hill and Nyssa Al-Ghul dancing to a spanish song Lena can’t quite recognize. A girl sings about wanting to date older men and all the other players remain unaware of her distress.

“What’s up with you lately?” Sam aks without letting the ball drop. “You’ve been weird since the night at James’.”

Images of Kara’s dar eyes flash on Lena’s mind and she can almost feel the ghost of her fingertips on her hips. That distraction is exactly the kind of thing Lena doesn’t need right now, and she gets up to fetch herself some cold water.

She hasn’t told Sam about her and Kara’s little moment on the pool the other day, knowing that her friend will first tease her mercilessly and the after get her to schedule a booty call with Kara ASAP.

Lena scoffs. “How would you know? You disappeared on me.”

Sam shrugs, not looking regretful at all. “You know I wouldn’t waste the opportunity to go home with Alex and Maggie.”

Coach Wayne shows up on the door, calling them to stand on the corridor leading to the pitch. “Well, and how was it?” Lena aks, tightening her ponytail.

Sam grins naughtily. “Oh, best night of my life.”

Lena rolls her eyes while the players line up to enter the field, captain Sam first and goalie Jess right after. While the officials settle some things amongst themselves, Siobhan comes down to greet Lena with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Please don’t destroy us,” she says, grinning up at Lena like she’s her mentor.

Lena purses her lips. “I’ll try my best.”

In the end, Lena doesn’t need to try very hard at all. As soon as the whistle blows, Atletico dominates the fame with quick passes that leave Real’s defense catching their breath. The ball seems attached to the feet of Atletico’s players, and Real starts losing some passes that leave the crowd frustrated and Coach Wayne holding his head between his hands.

Atletico’s coach deserves praise as well. Both Lena and Lana are being extremely well marked and chased, unable to actually approach the ball and restore some dominance for their team.  Leslie Willis always seems to be around Lena, scratching her ankles and anticipating herself to never let Lena arm any moves.

Such strategy obviously pays off. On minute 32 of the first half, Sam loses the ball right on her feet, proving that the tense atmosphere of the team can affect even the best players. Atletico’s midfielder sends a beautiful long pass to the penalty area that almost looks like it’s going to be caught by the goalie with no trouble until Siobhan sprints forward madly, hitting the ball with the middle of her forehead.

Lena and the rest of Real’s players can really only watch as Jess stretches forward to her maximum, but in the end is unable to stop the ball from hitting the back off the neck.

While the bigger half of the arena screams in excitement and Siobhan runs across the field in celebration, Lena falls to her knees on the grass, feeling angry with herself above anything else. The number seven on her shirt weighs heavily on her back and her blood boils with the need to save the team.

They go into half-time soon after, Atletico’s supporters cheering more than ever with their advantage. Coach Wayne doesn’t have much to say, and the atmosphere of the dressing room is somber, very different from the reggaeton party happening before the game started.

Sam sighs. “Guys, I’m so sorry, I lost that fucking easy ball.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Lana jumps in, eating some fruit to gain more energy.

Sam starts to shake her head and Coach Wayne says, “It really wasn’t.” He touches Sam’s shoulder while watching the whole team. “We’re playing well, they’re just doing it better, creating more opportunities. But we still got 45 minutes on the clock to turn it back around. All we gotta do is make them slip.”

Maria remarks, “We should change to 4-3-1-2. Put Lena between the lines.”

“Leslie Willis is slipping on my shoes,” Lena says, applying some muscle spray on her throbbing knee. “Unless I’m able to distract her, I can’t be of much help.”

Coach Wayne nods. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna work on a change of formation.”

Communicating helps the team understand where they need to improve, but the overall vibe is still serious. It’s the first match they lose to Atletico in nearly 5 years, and the first one since Lena joined the team. Even if she knows they won’t be able to win unless they focus and cheer up, Lena isn’t in the mood to be the cheerleader tonight, and it’s a relief when Jess steps forward, eating a banana and jumping around.

“C’mon, guys,” she shouts. “Sulking won’t lead us anywhere. C’mon, let’s beat that bunch of suckers.”

“Yeah, let’s beat them,” Nyssa roars, extending her hand. The rest of the players reach out to put their hands on top of hers. “C’mon, one, two, three.”

“Hala Madrid!” they all shout together.

Feeling slightly more pumped up, the team jumps back into the field. On these moments, Lena feels immense joy for having such fantastic fans as Madrid’s. The stands, probably feeling that the team was low on energy and even being the smaller part of the crowd, start chanting Madrid’s songs and cheering higher than she’s ever seen as soon as they enter the pitch.

Real manages to hold their fort during the first 15 minutes of the second half. With the change in formation and Lena playing between the midfield and the attack, Atletico’s defenders hesitate on whether they should mark her or the attackers, which leaves her more room to move expertly between them.

Were she a little less profissional, Lena would’ve stuck out her tongue to Willies, told her to shove it.

On the mark of the 13 minutes, even if Atletico seems to find themselves again on the game, they still miss the moment that Lena passes the ball to Lana who, out of the penalty area, sends an indefensible rocket to the back of the net.

Real’s fans explode with joy, even the ever so silent Coach Wayne jumps in excitement. They’re back on the game and it never felt so good.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Lana yells as she comes back from her celebration, charging up the team.

Karolina comes into the game, since they need to attack more and the girl is so unbelievably quick on her feet. Atletico seems pissed of with the tie and become more aggressive, but Real manages to exchange a few passes to cool down the game, regain their momentum and attack again.

Their happiness doesn’t last very long. On minute 42, Lois Lane, who was rather out on the match, manages to score a fantastic corner goal that gets a standing ovation even from madridistas.

For a moment it seems like it’s all lost: the game’s on the very end and Atletico has upped its defense line, bringing in two new and well-rested players. But Real never quits: Lena manages to steal and improbable ball, sending forward to Karolina, who’s approaching quickly on the sideline. The girl races with the ball until the corner quadrant, when she crosses the ball to Lena’s waiting feet.

Before Lena can shoot, before she can even angle herself, her left side starts burning and suddenly she’s on the ground, Leslie staring down on her

The referee comes down quickly, appointing the penalty and giving Leslie a red card. She leaves insulting Lena and the official’s ancestors, while Lena positions the ball on its exact spot.

It’s all on her now: Lena has the chance to score the equaliser and guarantee they win at least one point on the Liga. Her heart starts beating fast and she tries to calm herself down by taking a few deep breaths and mentally talking to the ball, but the only thing her mind can conjure up are blue eyes calling her a superstar.

The whistle blows and she runs, hitting the ball with the side of her feet. She can see it in slow motion: the balls curves deeply, rising up to fit perfectly onto the right side of the net. However, Atletico’s goalie is faster, and she reaches it with the tips of her fingers, sending the ball away from the goal.

Lena can’t fucking believe it. She lost the penalty, the one thing she practices the most. She had the ball, she hit it well, the goalie was fucking fantastic but she should’ve predicted it, Lena should’ve known where the goalie would jump.

Real takes the corner kick and nothing happens. The whistle blows signalling the end of the match and the only thing Lena wants to do right now is to disappear, so she does. She’s the first to get to the dressing rooms and the first to enter the showers, scalding hot to the point of burning and she doesn’t even care.

The rest of the night becomes a blur for her. She finishes her shower and changes, waits for the rest of the team with headphones on and is the first to leave. She can even listen as Sam gives a speech about bad days and losses, and as a leader she knows she should stick around and do the same, but she has just lost a clear chance of scoring and everything feels numb.

What if she had shot to the other side? What if she had kicked slower, stronger, in the middle, lower? She replays the penalty dozens of times on her head on the way home, imagining a different scenario every time. In all of her analyzes, she never finds out what she did wrong. Was she not focused, was she thinking of the wrong thing, what strange combination of the universe could have made her lose that penalty?

She foregoes eating in order to martirize herself reading Twitter comments about the game.

Her message app shows she just received a text from Kara Danvers.  _i know u were thinking of me when u ended leslie. don’t put 2 much pressure on yrself, it’s not ur fault. p.s. come c me play on saturday. its against roma. i’ll save u some tickets on the vip box._

Lena shuts down her phone abruptly. Her eyes sting and suddenly she’s out of breath. She knows exactly why she fucked up that penalty, and as Kara Danver’s moan of her name echoes on her mind, Lena reckons she should have seen it coming.

Lena spends a whole day thinking about it. By the end of the following day, she’s sure she lost the penalty because her mind wasn’t set straight on the game since the beginning, and almost having sex with Kara Danvers is the only explanation she can find for her distraction.

She still decides to accept the invitation to go to the game, even if it almost feels like she’s only going to appreciate Kara close by for the first time. She’s come to the conclusion that this - whatever this little game between her and Kara is - is only serving to take away her focus from her true objective, and it must end, don’t matter how much she wants to give in into it, doesn’t matter if it never begun in the first place.

She asks Jack to hire a private plane and lands on Turin half an hour before the game starts.

Kara wasn’t lying when she said she’d save Lena some seats in the VIP box, and being the new star of the team surely must have its perks because Lena finds herself right in front of the window, with privileged vision to the whole field.

The worst thing for Lena is that Kara’s playing ridiculously well. From the very first exchange of passes, the blonde doesn’t drift too far away from the ball, leading many attacks like an experient maestro.

With only 12 minutes on the clock, Cassandra Cain sends a floating pass to Kara and she captures it on the first try, leaving Roma’s goalie - Lyra Strayd, Lena’s irish teammate - watching the ball hit the net, incapable of doing anything.

Kara celebrates by running across the field with her pinky finger on the air, clutching her necklace tightly as a way of thanks. In one point Lena actually thinks Kara finds her eyes and sends her a wink, but the moment passes quickly and Lena’s left with the view of Kara’s explendid ass on Juventus’ tight shorts.

Roma equalises but that isn’t enough to stop Kara’s orchestra. Juventus starts slowing down, allowing Roma to enter the game a little more, until Helena Wayne - Coach Wayne’s brazilian nice and an excellent midfielder - steals the ball and quickly exchanges passes with Cassandra as Kara runs forward into the penalty area, leaving Roma’s defense dizzy and not understanding what just happened.

Cassandra can’t shoot to Kara because she’s the only player between the defense and the goalie, so she passes the ball to Mera Curry on the left, who sends a rocket into the goal. Lyra defends the kick, just so, and doesn’t grab the ball like she should have, so she is unable to do anything when Kara comes down and catches the rebound, scoring for the second time tonight.

Kara’s swallowed by her teammates, all of them jumping on top of her in celebration, and Lena can’t help but notice the glint in her eyes when she’s playing, the ultimate joy displayed on her face. On that moment, Lena’s sure Kara loves being the center of attention on the field, even if she first started influenced by her parents.

They go into half-time and Lena busies herself with lobster cake, expensive champagne and selfies with the other people on the VIP box. Roma’s president even comes down to greet her, the same old little man Lena remembers from her stay there, making an offhand joke about how they’d love if Lena came back to her origins, and Lena has to force out a laugh.

The game is back in no time, and Juventus now plays carefully, exchanging passes on their side of the field and not seeing the need to take any risks.

Roma doesn’t want to stand back, however, and they spend some good 15 minutes attacking. A penalty is marked on their behalf, and Lena’s heart breaks when she sees Kate Bishop sending it over the post, a situation so similar to the one she found herself in a couple of days ago that her mind snaps back to the reason she was there in the first place, and Lena starts searching for Kara again with her eyes.

Almost on the end of the Juve-controlled match, Daisy Johnson sends an unbelievable ball in perfect depth to the area, and the star, the sun itself, is there to kick it to the back of the net.

Lena doesn’t need to check twice this time: Kara runs straight to the front of the VIP box and makes the motion of putting on a hat, pointing to Lena with the biggest smile, as if she’s the one responsible for that. All Lena can do is clap and marvel at witnessing that amazing woman on her natural habitat.

The game ends soon after and Lena decides to wait for Kara right there, scrolling through her phone and taking more pictures with lots of men in suit. After some good 20 minutes, in which she realizes she’s alone in the box, she decides to stand up and leave, thinking Kara must’ve forgotten about her after the thrill of her hat-trick.

Kara chooses that moment to come in, and Lena almost loses her breath

Kara makes a byline to hug her, and suddenly Lena’s enveloped in a cocoon of soap essence and the warmth of the woman she craves the most.

Kara keeps her hands glued to Lena’s hips, long finger almost touching her ass, and says, “Hey, I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

She sounds sincere, making Lena remember of the almost radio silence between them since the night at the pool.

She reaches out a hand to touch Kara’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “Well, you invited me, so here I am.”

Kara’s face shines at that, and she gets a mischievous glint in her eyes that send tingles down Lena’s spine. “Yeah, and I’m glad I did. I knew you’d give me luck.”

“You’re just a great player,” Lena arguments.

“Nah,” Kara says, eyes fixated on her. “It was all you.”

Her intoxicating presence crowds Lena against the wall, and an insistent wetness pools between Lena’s legs. She finds herself tilting her neck unconsciously when Kara’s mouth approaches her ear, wet lips playing with her lobe.

“Is this ok?” Kara asks, voice a whisper between their bodies.

Lena nods, and before she can imagine any different, they’re kissing.

Kara’s lips mold with hers softly, making the first touch of their lips almost innocent. She pulls back a few inches, and they meet back together hungrier and fiercier, Kara’s wet mouth nipping and biting Lena’s bottom lip, sliding their tongues together, enough to crowd Lena’s senses.

She moans dirtily into Kara’s mouth, and the woman growls back, pressing her against the wall and finding the skin beneath Lena’s blouse.

Kara’s warm hands rub Lena’s side sides and her tongue licks into Lena’s mouth and Lena can only think of how perfectly they fit together, curves against curves in a way that just  _clicks._

She wants nothing more than to get naked right there, push Kara into a chair and straddle her, see what that talented tongue can do to Lena’s sensitive nipples.

Instead, she gathers all the strength in herself to push Kara’s hands away, disconnect their mouths.

Kara’s eyes are dark with arousal as she scans Lena’s face. “Is everything alright?”

Lena runs a hand over her mussed hair, trying to calm down her heart. “We shouldn’t do this.”

Kara widens her eyes. “Yeah, you’re right.” She eyes the room, mindful of the security cameras. “My place is nearby, but if you want to we can go to a hotel and -”

“No, Kara,” Lena interrupts. “We shouldn’t do this at all.”

Realization seems to dawn on her and she blinks. “I’m, um, I just, I thought we were on the same page but I’m clearly wrong, I’m so sorry.”

Lena starts shaking her head. “No, honey,” she asks, grabbing Kara’s hand. “You’re not wrong, it’s just.” She sighs. “I’m married to my job. This could never - this would never work between us.”

Kara nods, eyes suddenly hopeful again. “But, I mean, we could,” she trails off, biting her lip. “Just this once, no?”

Lena quickly considers making this a one night stand, imagining Kara’s strong fingers mapping her body only to end up buried deeply inside her, and rapidly shakes those thoughts away.

“We could,” she concedes. “But would it be enough?” At Kara’s hesitation, Lena nods. “Me neither.”

“So instead we just - never?” the blonde asks, voice squeaking.

“I wouldn’t say never,” Lena says, missing her touch terribly as Kara backs off. “I just. I can’t do this right now. When the League and the World Cup. You saw me, I even lost a penalty last game.”

Kara furrows her brows. “Wait, you think being involved with me made you lose that shot? Lena, it happens to everybody.”

“Not to me,” Lena says hastily. “Not to me, it can’t - it can’t happen to me.”

Kara purses her lips, eyeing into the distance, and Lena can actually see a smudge of her lipstick on the blonde’s lips. “Okay.”

Lena sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Kara repeats. “I just think - I have to go now, ok? I’ll just go.”

Kara presses one last kiss to her cheek, and Lena watches her leave wondering if she did the right thing, missing Kara’s warmth terribly in the now cold room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, you can find me at jewish-supergirl.tumblr.com or (tweeting in portuguese) at @uttdae

**Author's Note:**

> whoever finds out first what game jack was playing wins a sneak peak of the next chapter
> 
>  
> 
> you can always find me at jewish-supergirl.tumblr.com or (tweeting in portuguese) at @uttdae


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